April Fool
by Marcus Gaudry
Summary: Issue #3! On the same continuity as the previous 2; it might help to read them first. Not quite ready for field work, Bruce plays quarterback as Nightwing attempts to find and disarm a series of bombs apparently left throughout Gotham by the Riddler, and Commissioner Gordon attempts to interrogate Riddler in Arkham.
1. Chapter 1

April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."


	2. 3:00 am

April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."

2

3:00 am

Commissioner James Gordon and Inspector Harvey Bullock passed by the admittance desk at Arkham Asylum without a word to anyone; flashing their badges to get by the guards, orderlies, staff, and one intern who seemed more than a little out of place at this hour. Gordon made a note of her presence, certain that Harvey had, too. The most notable thing about her was that she just seemed a little too cheerful for anyone to be awake at this hour. On their way to see Nygma, Gordon went through a timeline in his mind:

Three hours ago he was jarred awake from a fitful sleep by the phone. The call was about the warehouse explosion. Thinking it might be about the escalating gangland tension; he benched Dustman and put Toussaint on it. The warehouse had been incinerated; and for over two hours there was nothing. Then, less than half an hour ago, he received a message from :

"Found concealed evidence at warehouse scene. Most likely suspect is Edward Nygma. Trademark clue is likely next target. Motive: unknown."

Gordon then promptly contacted Bullock to pull him off Falcone – who reported the shooter had to be Lawton – and called him in as part of the interrogation team on Nygma. Toussaint was a good cop, but nowhere near ready to deal with someone like the Riddler. Gordon charged her with heading up the hunt for Deadshot. Within minutes of that, Bullock and Gordon were on their way to Arkham; Bullock driving, Gordon on the phone arranging for Nygma to be put in an interview room. Those calls were completed by the time they were across the Arkham Drawbridge.

"I wonder what she's so hyped up about," Bullock commented, watching the intern skip down the adjacent hall they were heading up. "Prob'ly loaded up on those energy drinks or caffeine pills." Cute little thing, though, he thought. "Maybe she's got a couple to spare." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Harvey," Gordon said a little too curtly.

"Sorry, Jim," Bullock replied. "It's just this place; it gives me the creeps, y'know?"

James said nothing. If he was going to be honest, he couldn't blame his old partner for that. The place was eerie enough to give anyone the creeps, himself included.

"Hey, this is kinda like old times, ain't it?" Bullock said in a conversational tone. "The only thing missin' is O'Hare."

James stopped, turned, and gave Bullock the look; that look from the old days that said enough was enough, and it was time to get serious. Harvey knew the look all too well and snapped his big mouth shut. The two of them had been friends for far too long for him to take it personally; Jim's ability to focus on what needed doing was part of what got him the nod for the Commissioners' chair.

At the door of the interview room, James Gordon paused before they entered to where the Riddler was waiting, silent and wearing what appeared to be a nervous grin on his face.

"We do this the way we discussed in the car," the Commissioner said. Bullock nodded. The plan was for Bullock to present as muscle, and for Gordon to do the talking.

Dick Grayson growled in frustration.

"Calm down, Dick," Bruce said in the muted tones he normally reserved for when the Batman was talking to allies regarding a case. After he had sent his message to the Commissioner, the two of them got to work on the equations in the crossword puzzle; Bruce on the across clues and Dick on the down. Even with his head still not fully in the game, Bruce finished his part about five minutes earlier. That was not the cause of Dick's frustration. The concept that the puzzle was a numeric code of some sort was not lost on either one of them.

"But none of this makes any sense!" Dick argued. "None of the ciphers we've tried make anything other than a nonsensical mess of letters!" He snapped the paper up from the table they were working on, and paced around the Cave with it. "I almost hate to admit it, but I actually wish that Question were here. He's weird enough to see whatever it is we're missing."

"But he isn't here," Bruce pointed out. "This is up to us." He folded his hands together, tapping the tip of his nose with his fingertips. It really was starting to appear as if Nygma had finally managed to stump him this time. Dick was right; no cipher was proving effective. It wasn't each number or pair of numbers to represent a letter in the order they appear in the alphabet, adding each individual box in each numeric didn't work, no variation or combination to find the letter based on any version of the answers worked in accordance to the algebraic that appeared in each equation proved effective. Nothing seemed to be working. What was Riddler doing with this one?

"Pardon the interruption, sirs," Alfred said, standing at the Cave entrance from the Manor. "I thought you might both appreciate a cup of tea while you work out Mr. Nygma's latest brain teaser."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, waving his oldest friend in.

Alfred stepped into the Cave, and gently set the tea set he was carrying onto the table. "If I may, sirs, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps you were over thinking the matter somehow? Perhaps the answer is much simpler than it appears on the surface."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dick asked.

"Only that sometimes, Master Dick," Alfred replied, "the trick to a riddle is distraction. The speaker of the riddle gets you looking at one thing when you should be looking at another."

Bruce looked up as Alfred left, passing Dick as he did so. That was when he saw it; the paper had something typed on the back of the sheet.

"Bring that back over here, Dick," he said.

Dick handed the sheet to Bruce, who studied the puzzle for a second before turning the sheet over to see what was written of the back:

"Look at the forest, not the trees."

Bruce flipped the sheet back over and set it down on the table. With a ballpoint pen he began to quickly circle each of the algebraic letters in each equation, and then he wrote each one down in the order they appeared along the bottom of the sheet.

"I can't believe I missed this!" Bruce exclaimed, lifting the paper so Dick could see it.

Dick read:

"Forestry awareness exhibition Edgegate Shopping Center." He said aloud.

"Go," Bruce said.

Nightwing left, making sure their connections were good. As he was leaving, Bruce sent another message to the Commissioner from to give him the location of the next explosive. He then logged into the com and cam that Dick was equipped with, and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

Something wasn't right about this; the solution was too simple. Alfred had a point about distraction and misdirection, but still this wasn't really the way Nygma did things. He felt like they were both missing something, but couldn't quite grasp what it was.


	3. 3:30 am

April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would believe a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."

2

3:00 am

Commissioner James Gordon and Inspector Harvey Bullock passed by the admittance desk at Arkham Asylum without a word to anyone; flashing their badges to get by the guards, orderlies, staff, and one intern who seemed more than a little out of place at this hour. Gordon made a note of her presence, certain that Harvey had, too. The most notable thing about her was that she just seemed a little too cheerful for anyone to be awake at this hour. On their way to see Nygma, Gordon went through a timeline in his mind:

Three hours ago he was jarred awake from a fitful sleep by the phone. The call was about the warehouse explosion. Thinking it might be about the escalating gangland tension; he benched Dustman and put Toussaint on it. The warehouse had been incinerated; and for over two hours there was nothing. Then, less than half an hour ago, he received a message from :

"Found concealed evidence at warehouse scene. Most likely suspect is Edward Nygma. Trademark clue is likely next target. Motive: unknown."

Gordon then promptly contacted Bullock to pull him off Falcone – who reported the shooter had to be Lawton – and called him in as part of the interrogation team on Nygma. Toussaint was a good cop, but nowhere near ready to deal with someone like the Riddler. Gordon charged her with heading up the hunt for Deadshot. Within minutes of that, Bullock and Gordon were on their way to Arkham; Bullock driving, Gordon on the phone arranging for Nygma to be put in an interview room. Those calls were completed by the time they were across the Arkham Drawbridge.

"I wonder what she's so hyped up about," Bullock commented, watching the intern skip down the adjacent hall they were heading up. "Prob'ly loaded up on those energy drinks or caffeine pills." Cute little thing, though, he thought. "Maybe she's got a couple to spare." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Harvey," Gordon said a little too curtly.

"Sorry, Jim," Bullock replied. "It's just this place; it gives me the creeps, y'know?"

James said nothing. If he was going to be honest, he couldn't blame his old partner for that. The place was eerie enough to give anyone the creeps, himself included.

"Hey, this is kinda like old times, ain't it?" Bullock said in a conversational tone. "The only thing missin' is O'Hare."

James stopped, turned, and gave Bullock the look; that look from the old days that said enough was enough, and it was time to get serious. Harvey knew the look all too well and snapped his big mouth shut. The two of them had been friends for far too long for him to take it personally; Jim's ability to focus on what needed doing was part of what got him the nod for the Commissioners' chair.

At the door of the interview room, James Gordon paused before they entered to where the Riddler was waiting, silent and wearing what appeared to be a nervous grin on his face.

"We do this the way we discussed in the car," the Commissioner said. Bullock nodded. The plan was for Bullock to present as muscle, and for Gordon to do the talking.

Dick Grayson growled in frustration.

"Calm down, Dick," Bruce said in the muted tones he normally reserved for when the Batman was talking to allies regarding a case. After he had sent his message to the Commissioner, the two of them got to work on the equations in the crossword puzzle; Bruce on the across clues and Dick on the down. Even with his head still not fully in the game, Bruce finished his part about five minutes earlier. That was not the cause of Dick's frustration. The concept that the puzzle was a numeric code of some sort was not lost on either one of them.

"But none of this makes any sense!" Dick argued. "None of the ciphers we've tried make anything other than a nonsensical mess of letters!" He snapped the paper up from the table they were working on, and paced around the Cave with it. "I almost hate to admit it, but I actually wish that Question were here. He's weird enough to see whatever it is we're missing."

"But he isn't here," Bruce pointed out. "This is up to us." He folded his hands together, tapping the tip of his nose with his fingertips. It really was starting to appear as if Nygma had finally managed to stump him this time. Dick was right; no cipher was proving effective. It wasn't each number or pair of numbers to represent a letter in the order they appear in the alphabet, adding each individual box in each numeric didn't work, no variation or combination to find the letter based on any version of the answers worked in accordance to the algebraic that appeared in each equation proved effective. Nothing seemed to be working. What was Riddler doing with this one?

"Pardon the interruption, sirs," Alfred said, standing at the Cave entrance from the Manor. "I thought you might both appreciate a cup of tea while you work out Mr. Nygma's latest brain teaser."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, waving his oldest friend in.

Alfred stepped into the Cave, and gently set the tea set he was carrying onto the table. "If I may, sirs, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps you were over thinking the matter somehow? Perhaps the answer is much simpler than it appears on the surface."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dick asked.

"Only that sometimes, Master Dick," Alfred replied, "the trick to a riddle is distraction. The speaker of the riddle gets you looking at one thing when you should be looking at another."

Bruce looked up as Alfred left, passing Dick as he did so. That was when he saw it; the paper had something typed on the back of the sheet.

"Bring that back over here, Dick," he said.

Dick handed the sheet to Bruce, who studied the puzzle for a second before turning the sheet over to see what was written of the back:

"Look at the forest, not the trees."

Bruce flipped the sheet back over and set it down on the table. With a ballpoint pen he began to quickly circle each of the algebraic letters in each equation, and then he wrote each one down in the order they appeared along the bottom of the sheet.

"I can't believe I missed this!" Bruce exclaimed, lifting the paper so Dick could see it.

Dick read:

"Forestry awareness exhibition Edgegate Shopping Center." He said aloud.

"Go," Bruce said.

Nightwing left, making sure their connections were good. As he was leaving, Bruce sent another message to the Commissioner from to give him the location of the next explosive. He then logged into the com and cam that Dick was equipped with, and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

Something wasn't right about this; the solution was too simple. Alfred had a point about distraction and misdirection, but still this wasn't really the way Nygma did things. He felt like they were both missing something, but couldn't quite grasp what it was.

3

3:30 am

Richard Gavin paid the cab driver and hustled to the storage room that doubled as an office at Edgegate Shopping Center, wondering how he allowed himself to get roped into picking up the extra hours. He unlocked the door, let himself in, and clutched the Uni-Phone to check into the shift that he agreed to pick up for some insane reason that he could no longer remember; though it might come back to him when he saw the results on his paystub. By the time he got himself geared up and had the office door locked, he could already hear the call of Gotham's finest in the distance; gradually getting closer. They're probably on high alert after that warehouse thing, he reasoned.

Rounding the corner of the south building of the complex, he was nearly knocked over as a motorcycle zoomed past him and then came to a screeching halt along the curb; in a spot clearly marked as a no parking zone. Gavin picked up his pace a little to step up and tell the rider off, but the rider actually came to him.

"The Forestry Exhibit," the rider demanded. "Where is it?"

"The North Lot, in front of Oliver's," Gavin replied. "But..."

The rider turned and ran towards the north lot before Gavin could finish, warning him to stay back as he left. Richard ran after him, and caught up to find him at the exhibition; sweeping the grounds with a flashlight, as if he was looking for something. The sirens were really close now.

At Arkham, Harley Quinzel sat in Dr. Crane's office chair, pushing herself back and forth across the room on its wheels as she observed several of the monitors he had set to watch specific rooms. Once she had regained her equilibrium from spinning the chair until it was the room that was spinning and not her and after she finally found a setting of the chair she liked, she got down to the business of watching and waiting. Waiting mainly for her beeper to let her know where Bat-boy was in finding the surprises; but also for Eddie to give the signal for the big surprise. Watching a couple of things; of course there was Mr. J, standing in his room all handsome and suave in front of his specialized transparent door. Then there was that Crocodile Man, holding still just like he was told to until the time was right. Finally there was Eddie in the interview room with Gordon and his goon. Eddie was doing a good job stalling.

The Police had arrived at Edgegate, and began to set up a perimeter. Nightwing noted this, and that SWAT was setting up to come in with explosive handling gear. There was that, and also the maintenance kid was in the exhibit site.

"There's a lot of ground to cover here...Batman..." he said to comm, almost using Bruce's real name, "and not a lot of time if we take Penguin's Class Action into account." He turned to the kid, "I thought I told you to clear out of here! There's a bomb!"

The kid started to back away.

Seeing that Gavin was moving away from the exhibit, Bruce watched what Dick was scanning through thee monitors in the Cave. He quickly began to deduce the most likely place for the bomb to be; not the tree display, they were to look at the forest and not the trees. Not sprinkler system, the source was too far removed to be of any significance. The brochure display was empty at the moment, so if it was there it would be immediately visible. It had to be somewhere where it would do significant damage yet be concealed...

At Arkham, the Joker stood patiently at the transparent door of his cage; waiting for the moment of truth. Gordon and his goon were in place; trying to get answers from Nygma, that meant the first part of his prank went through. It also meant that he got the attention of Bat-breath and it certainly appeared that Harley had done her part to him nicely distracted until it was time for his punch line. He let out a stifled giggle of anticipation.

Killer Croc heard the two Pigs squealing as they passed by; Gordon and Bullock by the smell of them. Gordon with too much aftershave and Bullock reeked of chilidogs. If the little blonde monkey was telling the truth, the real signal would be coming soon. Then he would be free, and this time he would make no mistakes to get himself locked in here again.

Edward Nygma maintained his smile and kept himself from blinking despite the stinging sweat dripping into them from his brow. Why he had been feeling so nervous, so utterly terrified, nearly to the point of paralysis of late was a mystery to even him. _Riddle me this..._

"I can see you're quite nervous about something, Edward," Commissioner Gordon said, "like something is weighing on you. Tell us what it is, and we'll let you get back to your cell, safe and sound."

Riddler said nothing.

"Is it the bombs? Where are they, Edward?" Gordon asked. "It's not like you to put people in immediate danger; certainly not without allowing us the chance to do something about it. Please, Edward, hit us with one of your mind teasers. I'm ready."

Riddler glanced at Gordon, then at Bullock, and then shot a quick glance at the camera hidden behind the mirror. _Not yet, _he thought, _but soon, very soon..._

"Start with the cashier booth at the centre of the exhibit," Nightwing heard Bruce suggest over the comm.

Without a word, he dashed to the booth to find it locked. He reared up and kicked the door open; it gave way without much effort at all. Inside there was a desk with a strong box, left open and emptied, and a laptop computer, folded closed but left on. At the desk was a chair, and to left of the chair a cabinet. Pushing the chair aside, Nightwing tried the cabinet; it was locked. He gave it a solid yank and easily broke the lock. Not having time to think about how lax the security system was here, he peered inside the cabinet and saw a green bow with a purple question mark stenciled on it.

"I think I found it." He said.

"I see it," Bruce replied. "Are there any visible wires on the exterior?"

Nightwing inspected the box. "No." He answered.

"Try to remove the casing," Bruce instructed. "Be careful."

Once again, Dick found himself biting his tongue to avoid snapping off a Toddist remark as he complied. The top of the box turned out to be a farce; he merely had to lift it off and toss it aside to see the device it contained.

"Holy basic set up, Batman!" he exclaimed. The words shot out of his mouth before he realized it. The truth was that it was a basic set up; any amateur could have rigged this. The wiring color scheme was different, but the principal was just about the simplest explosive device he had ever seen. Almost by reflex, he grabbed a pair of wire snips from his belt.

"Be careful, Dick!" Bruce warned. "It could be a trick. Things are almost never as simple as they seem with the Riddler." That was true; as the Batman had learned from years of experience. Something about this whole affair was not sitting right with him. It was almost as if Nygma wanted this bomb found and disarmed. The question to ask was why. Maybe that was the real riddle here.

"There's a timer display, but nothing on it," Dick announced almost argumentatively. "We have no idea how much time we have, I don't see much choice."

Bruce gritted his teeth as watched Dick study the wiring configuration, deciding which wire to cut first. Finally he cut the green one first, which caused the timer to light up to reveal there was four minutes and twenty-two seconds remaining. Within two seconds, he cut the purple wire next.

The timer stopped.

Harley's beeper beeped. The bomb had been disarmed. Harley let out a sigh of relief at that; this one could have hurt a lot of people if Bat-brain messed up, even this early in the morning. She was even willing to bet that Mr J would have been upset if it went off and blew the Bat into a zillion pieces. She should know; she was the only one who really understood him. Mr J would want to be up close and personal when the Bat bought the farm; he might even keep him alive. It was Harley's belief that Mr J subconsciously needed the Bat to be his counterweight in life; something to balance out the universe and keep the world functional. Mr J needed an enemy in order to be Mr J. Or maybe it was Batman that needed Mr J. Then again, maybe they needed each other.

Harley gave her head a shake. No time for such deep thoughts now. She had a job to do. Grabbing the Uni -phone one of Eddies' goons on the outside gave her, she flipped it to the mail page where she selected the drafts section. Once she found the one she was looking for – it had all the domains it was supposed to go already set up- she hit send. Once that was done, she set the Uni-phone down and returned to the main control panel in Dr. Crane's office. There, she went eenie-meanie-miney- Moe until her pointer finger landed on a switch meant to unlock all the cell room doors.

"I wonder what this does?" she cackled as she flipped the switch.


	4. 3:40 am

April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would believe a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."

2

3:00 am

Commissioner James Gordon and Inspector Harvey Bullock passed by the admittance desk at Arkham Asylum without a word to anyone; flashing their badges to get by the guards, orderlies, staff, and one intern who seemed more than a little out of place at this hour. Gordon made a note of her presence, certain that Harvey had, too. The most notable thing about her was that she just seemed a little too cheerful for anyone to be awake at this hour. On their way to see Nygma, Gordon went through a timeline in his mind:

Three hours ago he was jarred awake from a fitful sleep by the phone. The call was about the warehouse explosion. Thinking it might be about the escalating gangland tension; he benched Dustman and put Toussaint on it. The warehouse had been incinerated; and for over two hours there was nothing. Then, less than half an hour ago, he received a message from :

"Found concealed evidence at warehouse scene. Most likely suspect is Edward Nygma. Trademark clue is likely next target. Motive: unknown."

Gordon then promptly contacted Bullock to pull him off Falcone – who reported the shooter had to be Lawton – and called him in as part of the interrogation team on Nygma. Toussaint was a good cop, but nowhere near ready to deal with someone like the Riddler. Gordon charged her with heading up the hunt for Deadshot. Within minutes of that, Bullock and Gordon were on their way to Arkham; Bullock driving, Gordon on the phone arranging for Nygma to be put in an interview room. Those calls were completed by the time they were across the Arkham Drawbridge.

"I wonder what she's so hyped up about," Bullock commented, watching the intern skip down the adjacent hall they were heading up. "Prob'ly loaded up on those energy drinks or caffeine pills." Cute little thing, though, he thought. "Maybe she's got a couple to spare." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Harvey," Gordon said a little too curtly.

"Sorry, Jim," Bullock replied. "It's just this place; it gives me the creeps, y'know?"

James said nothing. If he was going to be honest, he couldn't blame his old partner for that. The place was eerie enough to give anyone the creeps, himself included.

"Hey, this is kinda like old times, ain't it?" Bullock said in a conversational tone. "The only thing missin' is O'Hare."

James stopped, turned, and gave Bullock the look; that look from the old days that said enough was enough, and it was time to get serious. Harvey knew the look all too well and snapped his big mouth shut. The two of them had been friends for far too long for him to take it personally; Jim's ability to focus on what needed doing was part of what got him the nod for the Commissioners' chair.

At the door of the interview room, James Gordon paused before they entered to where the Riddler was waiting, silent and wearing what appeared to be a nervous grin on his face.

"We do this the way we discussed in the car," the Commissioner said. Bullock nodded. The plan was for Bullock to present as muscle, and for Gordon to do the talking.

Dick Grayson growled in frustration.

"Calm down, Dick," Bruce said in the muted tones he normally reserved for when the Batman was talking to allies regarding a case. After he had sent his message to the Commissioner, the two of them got to work on the equations in the crossword puzzle; Bruce on the across clues and Dick on the down. Even with his head still not fully in the game, Bruce finished his part about five minutes earlier. That was not the cause of Dick's frustration. The concept that the puzzle was a numeric code of some sort was not lost on either one of them.

"But none of this makes any sense!" Dick argued. "None of the ciphers we've tried make anything other than a nonsensical mess of letters!" He snapped the paper up from the table they were working on, and paced around the Cave with it. "I almost hate to admit it, but I actually wish that Question were here. He's weird enough to see whatever it is we're missing."

"But he isn't here," Bruce pointed out. "This is up to us." He folded his hands together, tapping the tip of his nose with his fingertips. It really was starting to appear as if Nygma had finally managed to stump him this time. Dick was right; no cipher was proving effective. It wasn't each number or pair of numbers to represent a letter in the order they appear in the alphabet, adding each individual box in each numeric didn't work, no variation or combination to find the letter based on any version of the answers worked in accordance to the algebraic that appeared in each equation proved effective. Nothing seemed to be working. What was Riddler doing with this one?

"Pardon the interruption, sirs," Alfred said, standing at the Cave entrance from the Manor. "I thought you might both appreciate a cup of tea while you work out Mr. Nygma's latest brain teaser."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, waving his oldest friend in.

Alfred stepped into the Cave, and gently set the tea set he was carrying onto the table. "If I may, sirs, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps you were over thinking the matter somehow? Perhaps the answer is much simpler than it appears on the surface."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dick asked.

"Only that sometimes, Master Dick," Alfred replied, "the trick to a riddle is distraction. The speaker of the riddle gets you looking at one thing when you should be looking at another."

Bruce looked up as Alfred left, passing Dick as he did so. That was when he saw it; the paper had something typed on the back of the sheet.

"Bring that back over here, Dick," he said.

Dick handed the sheet to Bruce, who studied the puzzle for a second before turning the sheet over to see what was written of the back:

"Look at the forest, not the trees."

Bruce flipped the sheet back over and set it down on the table. With a ballpoint pen he began to quickly circle each of the algebraic letters in each equation, and then he wrote each one down in the order they appeared along the bottom of the sheet.

"I can't believe I missed this!" Bruce exclaimed, lifting the paper so Dick could see it.

Dick read:

"Forestry awareness exhibition Edgegate Shopping Center." He said aloud.

"Go," Bruce said.

Nightwing left, making sure their connections were good. As he was leaving, Bruce sent another message to the Commissioner from to give him the location of the next explosive. He then logged into the com and cam that Dick was equipped with, and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

Something wasn't right about this; the solution was too simple. Alfred had a point about distraction and misdirection, but still this wasn't really the way Nygma did things. He felt like they were both missing something, but couldn't quite grasp what it was.

3

3:30 am

Richard Gavin paid the cab driver and hustled to the storage room that doubled as an office at Edgegate Shopping Center, wondering how he allowed himself to get roped into picking up the extra hours. He unlocked the door, let himself in, and clutched the Uni-Phone to check into the shift that he agreed to pick up for some insane reason that he could no longer remember; though it might come back to him when he saw the results on his paystub. By the time he got himself geared up and had the office door locked, he could already hear the call of Gotham's finest in the distance; gradually getting closer. They're probably on high alert after that warehouse thing, he reasoned.

Rounding the corner of the south building of the complex, he was nearly knocked over as a motorcycle zoomed past him and then came to a screeching halt along the curb; in a spot clearly marked as a no parking zone. Gavin picked up his pace a little to step up and tell the rider off, but the rider actually came to him.

"The Forestry Exhibit," the rider demanded. "Where is it?"

"The North Lot, in front of Oliver's," Gavin replied. "But..."

The rider turned and ran towards the north lot before Gavin could finish, warning him to stay back as he left. Richard ran after him, and caught up to find him at the exhibition; sweeping the grounds with a flashlight, as if he was looking for something. The sirens were really close now.

At Arkham, Harley Quinzel sat in Dr. Crane's office chair, pushing herself back and forth across the room on its wheels as she observed several of the monitors he had set to watch specific rooms. Once she had regained her equilibrium from spinning the chair until it was the room that was spinning and not her and after she finally found a setting of the chair she liked, she got down to the business of watching and waiting. Waiting mainly for her beeper to let her know where Bat-boy was in finding the surprises; but also for Eddie to give the signal for the big surprise. Watching a couple of things; of course there was Mr. J, standing in his room all handsome and suave in front of his specialized transparent door. Then there was that Crocodile Man, holding still just like he was told to until the time was right. Finally there was Eddie in the interview room with Gordon and his goon. Eddie was doing a good job stalling.

The Police had arrived at Edgegate, and began to set up a perimeter. Nightwing noted this, and that SWAT was setting up to come in with explosive handling gear. There was that, and also the maintenance kid was in the exhibit site.

"There's a lot of ground to cover here...Batman..." he said to comm, almost using Bruce's real name, "and not a lot of time if we take Penguin's Class Action into account." He turned to the kid, "I thought I told you to clear out of here! There's a bomb!"

The kid started to back away.

Seeing that Gavin was moving away from the exhibit, Bruce watched what Dick was scanning through thee monitors in the Cave. He quickly began to deduce the most likely place for the bomb to be; not the tree display, they were to look at the forest and not the trees. Not sprinkler system, the source was too far removed to be of any significance. The brochure display was empty at the moment, so if it was there it would be immediately visible. It had to be somewhere where it would do significant damage yet be concealed...

At Arkham, the Joker stood patiently at the transparent door of his cage; waiting for the moment of truth. Gordon and his goon were in place; trying to get answers from Nygma, that meant the first part of his prank went through. It also meant that he got the attention of Bat-breath and it certainly appeared that Harley had done her part to him nicely distracted until it was time for his punch line. He let out a stifled giggle of anticipation.

Killer Croc heard the two Pigs squealing as they passed by; Gordon and Bullock by the smell of them. Gordon with too much aftershave and Bullock reeked of chilidogs. If the little blonde monkey was telling the truth, the real signal would be coming soon. Then he would be free, and this time he would make no mistakes to get himself locked in here again.

Edward Nygma maintained his smile and kept himself from blinking despite the stinging sweat dripping into them from his brow. Why he had been feeling so nervous, so utterly terrified, nearly to the point of paralysis of late was a mystery to even him. _Riddle me this..._

"I can see you're quite nervous about something, Edward," Commissioner Gordon said, "like something is weighing on you. Tell us what it is, and we'll let you get back to your cell, safe and sound."

Riddler said nothing.

"Is it the bombs? Where are they, Edward?" Gordon asked. "It's not like you to put people in immediate danger; certainly not without allowing us the chance to do something about it. Please, Edward, hit us with one of your mind teasers. I'm ready."

Riddler glanced at Gordon, then at Bullock, and then shot a quick glance at the camera hidden behind the mirror. _Not yet, _he thought, _but soon, very soon..._

"Start with the cashier booth at the centre of the exhibit," Nightwing heard Bruce suggest over the comm.

Without a word, he dashed to the booth to find it locked. He reared up and kicked the door open; it gave way without much effort at all. Inside there was a desk with a strong box, left open and emptied, and a laptop computer, folded closed but left on. At the desk was a chair, and to left of the chair a cabinet. Pushing the chair aside, Nightwing tried the cabinet; it was locked. He gave it a solid yank and easily broke the lock. Not having time to think about how lax the security system was here, he peered inside the cabinet and saw a green bow with a purple question mark stenciled on it.

"I think I found it." He said.

"I see it," Bruce replied. "Are there any visible wires on the exterior?"

Nightwing inspected the box. "No." He answered.

"Try to remove the casing," Bruce instructed. "Be careful."

Once again, Dick found himself biting his tongue to avoid snapping off a Toddist remark as he complied. The top of the box turned out to be a farce; he merely had to lift it off and toss it aside to see the device it contained.

"Holy basic set up, Batman!" he exclaimed. The words shot out of his mouth before he realized it. The truth was that it was a basic set up; any amateur could have rigged this. The wiring color scheme was different, but the principal was just about the simplest explosive device he had ever seen. Almost by reflex, he grabbed a pair of wire snips from his belt.

"Be careful, Dick!" Bruce warned. "It could be a trick. Things are almost never as simple as they seem with the Riddler." That was true; as the Batman had learned from years of experience. Something about this whole affair was not sitting right with him. It was almost as if Nygma wanted this bomb found and disarmed. The question to ask was why. Maybe that was the real riddle here.

"There's a timer display, but nothing on it," Dick announced almost argumentatively. "We have no idea how much time we have, I don't see much choice."

Bruce gritted his teeth as watched Dick study the wiring configuration, deciding which wire to cut first. Finally he cut the green one first, which caused the timer to light up to reveal there was four minutes and twenty-two seconds remaining. Within two seconds, he cut the purple wire next.

The timer stopped.

Harley's beeper beeped. The bomb had been disarmed. Harley let out a sigh of relief at that; this one could have hurt a lot of people if Bat-brain messed up, even this early in the morning. She was even willing to bet that Mr J would have been upset if it went off and blew the Bat into a zillion pieces. She should know; she was the only one who really understood him. Mr J would want to be up close and personal when the Bat bought the farm; he might even keep him alive. It was Harley's belief that Mr J subconsciously needed the Bat to be his counterweight in life; something to balance out the universe and keep the world functional. Mr J needed an enemy in order to be Mr J. Or maybe it was Batman that needed Mr J. Then again, maybe they needed each other.

Harley gave her head a shake. No time for such deep thoughts now. She had a job to do. Grabbing the Uni -phone one of Eddies' goons on the outside gave her, she flipped it to the mail page where she selected the drafts section. Once she found the one she was looking for – it had all the domains it was supposed to go already set up- she hit send. Once that was done, she set the Uni-phone down and returned to the main control panel in Dr. Crane's office. There, she went eenie-meanie-miney- Moe until her pointer finger landed on a switch meant to unlock all the cell room doors.

"I wonder what this does?" she cackled as she flipped the switch.

4

3:40 am

The _click _of the lock for his door was so soft even Killer Croc could barely hear it. It was almost time to make his move.

"When the lights go out," the blonde monkey had said, "that's when the party starts." She told him this as she was cutting tiny slits into the restraints of his jacket and filing one of the links in his shackles. Since the Bat and that girl-pig got the drop on him a few months back, the keeper- monkeys put him in new and improved restraints; his teeth and his jaws couldn't tear through them. With the alterations provided by the blonde monkey, though, he would have no problem just muscling his way out.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked. This was the second time she helped him.

"Don't get any ideas about you and me, Crocodile breath," she had replied. "All of this is for Mr J."

Croc snorted a light laugh. She had a thing for the clown. _Takes all kinds... _he supposed.

Standing at his door, Joker was listening intently for his cue. Just as he imagined the reptile did, he heard the soft _click _of the door unlocking. Perhaps some of the other inmates heard it, perhaps not. It was also possible, even likely, that many of them would be cringing in their beds in horror because of the toxin that Crane was dousing them all in. None of that really mattered any more.

"Good girl, Harley," he giggled as he went to his bunk, reached under the mattress and produced a syringe which he palmed before gently sliding his door open.

At Edgegate, the SWAT goon named Alvarez shoved Richard Gavin aside just as his Uni-phone whistled at him to indicate he had an incoming message. It struck him as odd, especially since it appeared as if the detective that grilled him a few months back got a message at the exact same time, and Nightwing paused to look at the laptop in the booth.

"What the hell?" he heard the detective say as he went to check the message.

"Hold up, Alvarez!" Nightwing heard Dustman shout as both Knox and Vale pushed their way onto the scene. Choosing to ignore them, Nightwing flipped the laptop open to find it set to read the email that it just indicated was waiting.

It read:

What was a mystery  
is now a gift.  
What is a gift  
is soon history.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away and always will.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away until it stands still.

"Time," Bruce said to him in the comm.

Of course that was it. It played on the idea that today is a gift, so we call it the present; but what did it mean?

"...Downtown!" he heard someone in the crowd shout. Nightwing looked up to locate the source of the shout and found it; it was the kid, who was jumping up and down like he had an uncontrollable urge to urinate. He heard Bruce mutter the name 'Gavin' as he stepped out of the booth and waved the kid over. The kid came up to him.

"Your name's Gavin, right?" Nightwing asked.

"Yeah," the kid replied, a little stunned.

"Okay, good." Nightwing nodded. "What did you just say back there?"

The kid held up his phone to show the same poem on the laptop. "It's the old clock tower, downtown. It was built, like, a century ago as a gift from someplace, and it stopped something like ten years ago. City council keeps it up as an historical landmark. Because it's stopped, it stands still."

Nightwing looked at Gavin skeptically.

"It fits," Bruce said into the comm. "It's really direct, but that seems to be the game Riddler is playing tonight." As Dick fled the scene to hurry to the old clock tower, Bruce still felt uncomfortable with how easy all of this was. True, Nygma was probably limited in what he could do, but there was usually a method to his schemes; this only barely fit the pattern. He began to run it down:

First: an explosion without warning. It was set to go up and burn itself out with minimal difficulty. Obviously meant to get his attention and nothing else, really, other than introduce the first clue.

Second: a puzzle that is really a diversion from the actual solution. Was that to buy time, or is the simplicity part of what he's doing? Why the distraction of the crossword? Why not just the proverb on the back of the sheet?

Third: a remarkably simple explosive device. So simple in fact, that any punk with a copy of that underground rag _Mayhem for Morons _could have put it together. It was almost as if it was supposed to get disarmed. The question is why? Is this to get them to an end game? Is the tower the final piece? That was possible; the carnage of that going up right downtown would be catastrophic even in the early morning. The problem with that theory was that such outright terrorism was unusual for Nygma. Had he gone even deeper into his madness?

Whistling a familiar circus tune, Joker walked nonchalantly along until he got to Dr. Crane's office door. The good Doctor had override controls over the entire facility, which of course was a completely insane idea on his part; after all what would happen if one of his more unstable patients were to happen to gain access to the room? Joker decided that he should knock on the door and check on the good doctor, just to make sure the place was safe. He chuckled lightly as he opened the door just a crack to take a little peek.

"Hello?" he called out in quiet sing-song voice. "Is everything all right in here?"

The door flew open and the Joker found himself in a bear hug so tight he actually thought for a moment that at least one of his ribs might crack under the pressure. It wasn't until he found himself lip-locked that he realized he had instinctively gripped Harley's waist the second she jumped him, wrapping her legs around him. After a quick round of tonsil hockey, Harley broke off the kiss with a loud smack.

"Easy, my harlequin!" he said, straining to breathe. "Daddy's glad to see you too, but he needs some air right now!"

Apologizing sheepishly, Harley dropped to her feet and skipped her way back to where all the controls were and began to show him how everything was working out just like how he and Riddler said it would; even Killer Croc was playing along. He had gotten himself loose of his bindings and was waiting as calm as a clam.

By the time Dick had gotten to the tower, it was getting close to 4:00 in the morning. Anticipating the possibility of guards at the tower or obstacles along the way, Bruce had Dick take a route that was less direct than he would have liked, but effective for concealing his movements. He had also sent Gordon another message courtesy of D. Knight to alert him of the clock tower; it was probably unnecessary, as it appeared as if Lt. Dustman had sent his entire team off to the tower as well. If the tower was Riddlers' end game, then there was no way he had enough men at his disposal to avoid being overwhelmed by this force. While monitoring Nightwings' moves, Bruce ran an historical check on the old clock tower and cross referenced it with Nygma's criminal record. He found nothing to suggest any motive. _What is he doing? _

"We know about the clock tower, Nygma."

Edward Nygma shifted in his seat; it was obvious to Jim that that piece of information was significant. He also noted an ever so slight change in the expression Riddler wore on his face. Gordon expected to see some kind of agitation, but that wasn't what he saw at all; he saw relief.

"Other than what looks like the entire Gotham police force and a media circus, I don't see anyone here," Nightwing said into the comm as he observed the scene from atop the new clock tower, which was directly across the street from the old one. The old clock tower was indeed standing still at four twenty.

"Batman," Nightwing said as a thought occurred to him, "how many of the equations in the first puzzle contained the digits 4, 2, and 0 in that order?"

A brief pause as Bruce checked. "All of them," he replied.

"The timer at the exhibit stopped at four minutes and twenty seconds, and the old tower is stopped at twenty minutes past four. I bet the next bomb is set to go off then."

"That's likely," Bruce confirmed. "Chances are it is set to release some kind of chemical agent, too."

For a second, Nightwing was about to question how he came to that, then remembered the police code for drug related offence. In any case, he had about twenty minutes to find and deactivate the bomb. Since it looked like the Riddler was slipping up a lot this time, he figured the night was just about over.

As Dick swung across the street and into the old tower, Bruce still felt like he was missing something. With the Riddler, there was always another layer beneath the apparent one; always.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees. _

There was no way this caper of his was this simple. There had to be more to it.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

He had to know that a series of bombs would attract this kind of attention. Was this all so he could stay relevant? Was that the motive?  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

_"Sometimes, the trick to a riddle is distraction..."  
Look at the forest, not the trees. _

"Oh, no," Bruce muttered.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick, I need you to listen very carefully." Bruce replied. "I'm going to get word to Commissioner Gordon to send as many units as possible to Arkham. You find that bomb and deactivate it. Everything tonight has been a diversion. Riddler is planning an escape."


	5. 4:00 am

April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would believe a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."

2

3:00 am

Commissioner James Gordon and Inspector Harvey Bullock passed by the admittance desk at Arkham Asylum without a word to anyone; flashing their badges to get by the guards, orderlies, staff, and one intern who seemed more than a little out of place at this hour. Gordon made a note of her presence, certain that Harvey had, too. The most notable thing about her was that she just seemed a little too cheerful for anyone to be awake at this hour. On their way to see Nygma, Gordon went through a timeline in his mind:

Three hours ago he was jarred awake from a fitful sleep by the phone. The call was about the warehouse explosion. Thinking it might be about the escalating gangland tension; he benched Dustman and put Toussaint on it. The warehouse had been incinerated; and for over two hours there was nothing. Then, less than half an hour ago, he received a message from :

"Found concealed evidence at warehouse scene. Most likely suspect is Edward Nygma. Trademark clue is likely next target. Motive: unknown."

Gordon then promptly contacted Bullock to pull him off Falcone – who reported the shooter had to be Lawton – and called him in as part of the interrogation team on Nygma. Toussaint was a good cop, but nowhere near ready to deal with someone like the Riddler. Gordon charged her with heading up the hunt for Deadshot. Within minutes of that, Bullock and Gordon were on their way to Arkham; Bullock driving, Gordon on the phone arranging for Nygma to be put in an interview room. Those calls were completed by the time they were across the Arkham Drawbridge.

"I wonder what she's so hyped up about," Bullock commented, watching the intern skip down the adjacent hall they were heading up. "Prob'ly loaded up on those energy drinks or caffeine pills." Cute little thing, though, he thought. "Maybe she's got a couple to spare." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Harvey," Gordon said a little too curtly.

"Sorry, Jim," Bullock replied. "It's just this place; it gives me the creeps, y'know?"

James said nothing. If he was going to be honest, he couldn't blame his old partner for that. The place was eerie enough to give anyone the creeps, himself included.

"Hey, this is kinda like old times, ain't it?" Bullock said in a conversational tone. "The only thing missin' is O'Hare."

James stopped, turned, and gave Bullock the look; that look from the old days that said enough was enough, and it was time to get serious. Harvey knew the look all too well and snapped his big mouth shut. The two of them had been friends for far too long for him to take it personally; Jim's ability to focus on what needed doing was part of what got him the nod for the Commissioners' chair.

At the door of the interview room, James Gordon paused before they entered to where the Riddler was waiting, silent and wearing what appeared to be a nervous grin on his face.

"We do this the way we discussed in the car," the Commissioner said. Bullock nodded. The plan was for Bullock to present as muscle, and for Gordon to do the talking.

Dick Grayson growled in frustration.

"Calm down, Dick," Bruce said in the muted tones he normally reserved for when the Batman was talking to allies regarding a case. After he had sent his message to the Commissioner, the two of them got to work on the equations in the crossword puzzle; Bruce on the across clues and Dick on the down. Even with his head still not fully in the game, Bruce finished his part about five minutes earlier. That was not the cause of Dick's frustration. The concept that the puzzle was a numeric code of some sort was not lost on either one of them.

"But none of this makes any sense!" Dick argued. "None of the ciphers we've tried make anything other than a nonsensical mess of letters!" He snapped the paper up from the table they were working on, and paced around the Cave with it. "I almost hate to admit it, but I actually wish that Question were here. He's weird enough to see whatever it is we're missing."

"But he isn't here," Bruce pointed out. "This is up to us." He folded his hands together, tapping the tip of his nose with his fingertips. It really was starting to appear as if Nygma had finally managed to stump him this time. Dick was right; no cipher was proving effective. It wasn't each number or pair of numbers to represent a letter in the order they appear in the alphabet, adding each individual box in each numeric didn't work, no variation or combination to find the letter based on any version of the answers worked in accordance to the algebraic that appeared in each equation proved effective. Nothing seemed to be working. What was Riddler doing with this one?

"Pardon the interruption, sirs," Alfred said, standing at the Cave entrance from the Manor. "I thought you might both appreciate a cup of tea while you work out Mr. Nygma's latest brain teaser."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, waving his oldest friend in.

Alfred stepped into the Cave, and gently set the tea set he was carrying onto the table. "If I may, sirs, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps you were over thinking the matter somehow? Perhaps the answer is much simpler than it appears on the surface."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dick asked.

"Only that sometimes, Master Dick," Alfred replied, "the trick to a riddle is distraction. The speaker of the riddle gets you looking at one thing when you should be looking at another."

Bruce looked up as Alfred left, passing Dick as he did so. That was when he saw it; the paper had something typed on the back of the sheet.

"Bring that back over here, Dick," he said.

Dick handed the sheet to Bruce, who studied the puzzle for a second before turning the sheet over to see what was written of the back:

"Look at the forest, not the trees."

Bruce flipped the sheet back over and set it down on the table. With a ballpoint pen he began to quickly circle each of the algebraic letters in each equation, and then he wrote each one down in the order they appeared along the bottom of the sheet.

"I can't believe I missed this!" Bruce exclaimed, lifting the paper so Dick could see it.

Dick read:

"Forestry awareness exhibition Edgegate Shopping Center." He said aloud.

"Go," Bruce said.

Nightwing left, making sure their connections were good. As he was leaving, Bruce sent another message to the Commissioner from to give him the location of the next explosive. He then logged into the com and cam that Dick was equipped with, and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

Something wasn't right about this; the solution was too simple. Alfred had a point about distraction and misdirection, but still this wasn't really the way Nygma did things. He felt like they were both missing something, but couldn't quite grasp what it was.

3

3:30 am

Richard Gavin paid the cab driver and hustled to the storage room that doubled as an office at Edgegate Shopping Center, wondering how he allowed himself to get roped into picking up the extra hours. He unlocked the door, let himself in, and clutched the Uni-Phone to check into the shift that he agreed to pick up for some insane reason that he could no longer remember; though it might come back to him when he saw the results on his paystub. By the time he got himself geared up and had the office door locked, he could already hear the call of Gotham's finest in the distance; gradually getting closer. They're probably on high alert after that warehouse thing, he reasoned.

Rounding the corner of the south building of the complex, he was nearly knocked over as a motorcycle zoomed past him and then came to a screeching halt along the curb; in a spot clearly marked as a no parking zone. Gavin picked up his pace a little to step up and tell the rider off, but the rider actually came to him.

"The Forestry Exhibit," the rider demanded. "Where is it?"

"The North Lot, in front of Oliver's," Gavin replied. "But..."

The rider turned and ran towards the north lot before Gavin could finish, warning him to stay back as he left. Richard ran after him, and caught up to find him at the exhibition; sweeping the grounds with a flashlight, as if he was looking for something. The sirens were really close now.

At Arkham, Harley Quinzel sat in Dr. Crane's office chair, pushing herself back and forth across the room on its wheels as she observed several of the monitors he had set to watch specific rooms. Once she had regained her equilibrium from spinning the chair until it was the room that was spinning and not her and after she finally found a setting of the chair she liked, she got down to the business of watching and waiting. Waiting mainly for her beeper to let her know where Bat-boy was in finding the surprises; but also for Eddie to give the signal for the big surprise. Watching a couple of things; of course there was Mr. J, standing in his room all handsome and suave in front of his specialized transparent door. Then there was that Crocodile Man, holding still just like he was told to until the time was right. Finally there was Eddie in the interview room with Gordon and his goon. Eddie was doing a good job stalling.

The Police had arrived at Edgegate, and began to set up a perimeter. Nightwing noted this, and that SWAT was setting up to come in with explosive handling gear. There was that, and also the maintenance kid was in the exhibit site.

"There's a lot of ground to cover here...Batman..." he said to comm, almost using Bruce's real name, "and not a lot of time if we take Penguin's Class Action into account." He turned to the kid, "I thought I told you to clear out of here! There's a bomb!"

The kid started to back away.

Seeing that Gavin was moving away from the exhibit, Bruce watched what Dick was scanning through thee monitors in the Cave. He quickly began to deduce the most likely place for the bomb to be; not the tree display, they were to look at the forest and not the trees. Not sprinkler system, the source was too far removed to be of any significance. The brochure display was empty at the moment, so if it was there it would be immediately visible. It had to be somewhere where it would do significant damage yet be concealed...

At Arkham, the Joker stood patiently at the transparent door of his cage; waiting for the moment of truth. Gordon and his goon were in place; trying to get answers from Nygma, that meant the first part of his prank went through. It also meant that he got the attention of Bat-breath and it certainly appeared that Harley had done her part to him nicely distracted until it was time for his punch line. He let out a stifled giggle of anticipation.

Killer Croc heard the two Pigs squealing as they passed by; Gordon and Bullock by the smell of them. Gordon with too much aftershave and Bullock reeked of chilidogs. If the little blonde monkey was telling the truth, the real signal would be coming soon. Then he would be free, and this time he would make no mistakes to get himself locked in here again.

Edward Nygma maintained his smile and kept himself from blinking despite the stinging sweat dripping into them from his brow. Why he had been feeling so nervous, so utterly terrified, nearly to the point of paralysis of late was a mystery to even him. _Riddle me this..._

"I can see you're quite nervous about something, Edward," Commissioner Gordon said, "like something is weighing on you. Tell us what it is, and we'll let you get back to your cell, safe and sound."

Riddler said nothing.

"Is it the bombs? Where are they, Edward?" Gordon asked. "It's not like you to put people in immediate danger; certainly not without allowing us the chance to do something about it. Please, Edward, hit us with one of your mind teasers. I'm ready."

Riddler glanced at Gordon, then at Bullock, and then shot a quick glance at the camera hidden behind the mirror. _Not yet, _he thought, _but soon, very soon..._

"Start with the cashier booth at the centre of the exhibit," Nightwing heard Bruce suggest over the comm.

Without a word, he dashed to the booth to find it locked. He reared up and kicked the door open; it gave way without much effort at all. Inside there was a desk with a strong box, left open and emptied, and a laptop computer, folded closed but left on. At the desk was a chair, and to left of the chair a cabinet. Pushing the chair aside, Nightwing tried the cabinet; it was locked. He gave it a solid yank and easily broke the lock. Not having time to think about how lax the security system was here, he peered inside the cabinet and saw a green bow with a purple question mark stenciled on it.

"I think I found it." He said.

"I see it," Bruce replied. "Are there any visible wires on the exterior?"

Nightwing inspected the box. "No." He answered.

"Try to remove the casing," Bruce instructed. "Be careful."

Once again, Dick found himself biting his tongue to avoid snapping off a Toddist remark as he complied. The top of the box turned out to be a farce; he merely had to lift it off and toss it aside to see the device it contained.

"Holy basic set up, Batman!" he exclaimed. The words shot out of his mouth before he realized it. The truth was that it was a basic set up; any amateur could have rigged this. The wiring color scheme was different, but the principal was just about the simplest explosive device he had ever seen. Almost by reflex, he grabbed a pair of wire snips from his belt.

"Be careful, Dick!" Bruce warned. "It could be a trick. Things are almost never as simple as they seem with the Riddler." That was true; as the Batman had learned from years of experience. Something about this whole affair was not sitting right with him. It was almost as if Nygma wanted this bomb found and disarmed. The question to ask was why. Maybe that was the real riddle here.

"There's a timer display, but nothing on it," Dick announced almost argumentatively. "We have no idea how much time we have, I don't see much choice."

Bruce gritted his teeth as watched Dick study the wiring configuration, deciding which wire to cut first. Finally he cut the green one first, which caused the timer to light up to reveal there was four minutes and twenty-two seconds remaining. Within two seconds, he cut the purple wire next.

The timer stopped.

Harley's beeper beeped. The bomb had been disarmed. Harley let out a sigh of relief at that; this one could have hurt a lot of people if Bat-brain messed up, even this early in the morning. She was even willing to bet that Mr J would have been upset if it went off and blew the Bat into a zillion pieces. She should know; she was the only one who really understood him. Mr J would want to be up close and personal when the Bat bought the farm; he might even keep him alive. It was Harley's belief that Mr J subconsciously needed the Bat to be his counterweight in life; something to balance out the universe and keep the world functional. Mr J needed an enemy in order to be Mr J. Or maybe it was Batman that needed Mr J. Then again, maybe they needed each other.

Harley gave her head a shake. No time for such deep thoughts now. She had a job to do. Grabbing the Uni -phone one of Eddies' goons on the outside gave her, she flipped it to the mail page where she selected the drafts section. Once she found the one she was looking for – it had all the domains it was supposed to go already set up- she hit send. Once that was done, she set the Uni-phone down and returned to the main control panel in Dr. Crane's office. There, she went eenie-meanie-miney- Moe until her pointer finger landed on a switch meant to unlock all the cell room doors.

"I wonder what this does?" she cackled as she flipped the switch.

4

3:40 am

The _click _of the lock for his door was so soft even Killer Croc could barely hear it. It was almost time to make his move.

"When the lights go out," the blonde monkey had said, "that's when the party starts." She told him this as she was cutting tiny slits into the restraints of his jacket and filing one of the links in his shackles. Since the Bat and that girl-pig got the drop on him a few months back, the keeper- monkeys put him in new and improved restraints; his teeth and his jaws couldn't tear through them. With the alterations provided by the blonde monkey, though, he would have no problem just muscling his way out.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked. This was the second time she helped him.

"Don't get any ideas about you and me, Crocodile breath," she had replied. "All of this is for Mr J."

Croc snorted a light laugh. She had a thing for the clown. _Takes all kinds... _he supposed.

Standing at his door, Joker was listening intently for his cue. Just as he imagined the reptile did, he heard the soft _click _of the door unlocking. Perhaps some of the other inmates heard it, perhaps not. It was also possible, even likely, that many of them would be cringing in their beds in horror because of the toxin that Crane was dousing them all in. None of that really mattered any more.

"Good girl, Harley," he giggled as he went to his bunk, reached under the mattress and produced a syringe which he palmed before gently sliding his door open.

At Edgegate, the SWAT goon named Alvarez shoved Richard Gavin aside just as his Uni-phone whistled at him to indicate he had an incoming message. It struck him as odd, especially since it appeared as if the detective that grilled him a few months back got a message at the exact same time, and Nightwing paused to look at the laptop in the booth.

"What the hell?" he heard the detective say as he went to check the message.

"Hold up, Alvarez!" Nightwing heard Dustman shout as both Knox and Vale pushed their way onto the scene. Choosing to ignore them, Nightwing flipped the laptop open to find it set to read the email that it just indicated was waiting.

It read:

What was a mystery  
is now a gift.  
What is a gift  
is soon history.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away and always will.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away until it stands still.

"Time," Bruce said to him in the comm.

Of course that was it. It played on the idea that today is a gift, so we call it the present; but what did it mean?

"...Downtown!" he heard someone in the crowd shout. Nightwing looked up to locate the source of the shout and found it; it was the kid, who was jumping up and down like he had an uncontrollable urge to urinate. He heard Bruce mutter the name 'Gavin' as he stepped out of the booth and waved the kid over. The kid came up to him.

"Your name's Gavin, right?" Nightwing asked.

"Yeah," the kid replied, a little stunned.

"Okay, good." Nightwing nodded. "What did you just say back there?"

The kid held up his phone to show the same poem on the laptop. "It's the old clock tower, downtown. It was built, like, a century ago as a gift from someplace, and it stopped something like ten years ago. City council keeps it up as an historical landmark. Because it's stopped, it stands still."

Nightwing looked at Gavin skeptically.

"It fits," Bruce said into the comm. "It's really direct, but that seems to be the game Riddler is playing tonight." As Dick fled the scene to hurry to the old clock tower, Bruce still felt uncomfortable with how easy all of this was. True, Nygma was probably limited in what he could do, but there was usually a method to his schemes; this only barely fit the pattern. He began to run it down:

First: an explosion without warning. It was set to go up and burn itself out with minimal difficulty. Obviously meant to get his attention and nothing else, really, other than introduce the first clue.

Second: a puzzle that is really a diversion from the actual solution. Was that to buy time, or is the simplicity part of what he's doing? Why the distraction of the crossword? Why not just the proverb on the back of the sheet?

Third: a remarkably simple explosive device. So simple in fact, that any punk with a copy of that underground rag _Mayhem for Morons _could have put it together. It was almost as if it was supposed to get disarmed. The question is why? Is this to get them to an end game? Is the tower the final piece? That was possible; the carnage of that going up right downtown would be catastrophic even in the early morning. The problem with that theory was that such outright terrorism was unusual for Nygma. Had he gone even deeper into his madness?

Whistling a familiar circus tune, Joker walked nonchalantly along until he got to Dr. Crane's office door. The good Doctor had override controls over the entire facility, which of course was a completely insane idea on his part; after all what would happen if one of his more unstable patients were to happen to gain access to the room? Joker decided that he should knock on the door and check on the good doctor, just to make sure the place was safe. He chuckled lightly as he opened the door just a crack to take a little peek.

"Hello?" he called out in quiet sing-song voice. "Is everything all right in here?"

The door flew open and the Joker found himself in a bear hug so tight he actually thought for a moment that at least one of his ribs might crack under the pressure. It wasn't until he found himself lip-locked that he realized he had instinctively gripped Harley's waist the second she jumped him, wrapping her legs around him. After a quick round of tonsil hockey, Harley broke off the kiss with a loud smack.

"Easy, my harlequin!" he said, straining to breathe. "Daddy's glad to see you too, but he needs some air right now!"

Apologizing sheepishly, Harley dropped to her feet and skipped her way back to where all the controls were and began to show him how everything was working out just like how he and Riddler said it would; even Killer Croc was playing along. He had gotten himself loose of his bindings and was waiting as calm as a clam.

By the time Dick had gotten to the tower, it was getting close to 4:00 in the morning. Anticipating the possibility of guards at the tower or obstacles along the way, Bruce had Dick take a route that was less direct than he would have liked, but effective for concealing his movements. He had also sent Gordon another message courtesy of D. Knight to alert him of the clock tower; it was probably unnecessary, as it appeared as if Lt. Dustman had sent his entire team off to the tower as well. If the tower was Riddlers' end game, then there was no way he had enough men at his disposal to avoid being overwhelmed by this force. While monitoring Nightwings' moves, Bruce ran an historical check on the old clock tower and cross referenced it with Nygma's criminal record. He found nothing to suggest any motive. _What is he doing? _

"We know about the clock tower, Nygma."

Edward Nygma shifted in his seat; it was obvious to Jim that that piece of information was significant. He also noted an ever so slight change in the expression Riddler wore on his face. Gordon expected to see some kind of agitation, but that wasn't what he saw at all; he saw relief.

"Other than what looks like the entire Gotham police force and a media circus, I don't see anyone here," Nightwing said into the comm as he observed the scene from atop the new clock tower, which was directly across the street from the old one. The old clock tower was indeed standing still at four twenty.

"Batman," Nightwing said as a thought occurred to him, "how many of the equations in the first puzzle contained the digits 4, 2, and 0 in that order?"

A brief pause as Bruce checked. "All of them," he replied.

"The timer at the exhibit stopped at four minutes and twenty seconds, and the old tower is stopped at twenty minutes past four. I bet the next bomb is set to go off then."

"That's likely," Bruce confirmed. "Chances are it is set to release some kind of chemical agent, too."

For a second, Nightwing was about to question how he came to that, then remembered the police code for drug related offence. In any case, he had about twenty minutes to find and deactivate the bomb. Since it looked like the Riddler was slipping up a lot this time, he figured the night was just about over.

As Dick swung across the street and into the old tower, Bruce still felt like he was missing something. With the Riddler, there was always another layer beneath the apparent one; always.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees. _

There was no way this caper of his was this simple. There had to be more to it.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

He had to know that a series of bombs would attract this kind of attention. Was this all so he could stay relevant? Was that the motive?  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

_"Sometimes, the trick to a riddle is distraction..."  
Look at the forest, not the trees. _

"Oh, no," Bruce muttered.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick, I need you to listen very carefully." Bruce replied. "I'm going to get word to Commissioner Gordon to send as many units as possible to Arkham. You find that bomb and deactivate it. Everything tonight has been a diversion. Riddler is planning an escape."

5

4:00 am

_To GPD:  
From  
Re: Bombing motives_

_Bombs in City are easy to find and disarm. They are clearly intended as a diversion from real plan to escape Arkham. All available unit order to asylum is advised. Include a bomb squad. The Clock Tower is being handled. _

Commissioner James Gordon blinked just once when he read the message. When his beeper went off to indicate an incoming message, he stepped out of the interview room, leaving Nygma with Bullock. Immediately after, he switched his new fangled fancy phone gizmo to the actual phone function and dialled HQ. It was easier for him to just dial than to try and remember the speed code.

"O'Hare."

"Patrick," Gordon greeted, barely louder than a whisper. "It's me."

"Commissioner," the Chief greeted back just a little too cheerfully. "Have you had any luck with Nygma?"

"Never mind that, Patrick," Gordon replied. "I have learned from a very reliable source that his endgame is here at Arkham. I need you to send all available units and SWAT with an explosives kit here right now."

"But what about the Tower, sir?" the chief asked.

"My source assures me the Tower is being handled."

"By source, do you mean..."

"If you don't ask, Patrick," Gordon cut him off. He knew he would not have to finish the statement; Patrick O'Hare would know that he meant that by not being asked, he wouldn't have to lie. The Batman was still wanted by Police, after all, thanks to that sleazy excuse of a man Cobblepot.

"Right, sir," O'Hare replied without question or any further probing the matter. That was good. If it got out that the Police were getting aid from a fugitive, it would set everything back to where it was before; especially if the likes of Cobblepot and Dustman had a chance to spin it right.

James Gordon hung up and headed back to the interview room.

"You know, Bullock," they heard Gordon say in the speakers in Dr. Cranes' office; "I really don't think he's going to talk."

"Ummm, I think this is starting to go a teensy bit south on us, Mr J." Harley said with nervous anticipation.

"Uh-oh," Joker commented back; not really paying her much mind.

"Tell me about it," Harley said, not even noticing Jokers' apparent indifference. "Gordon and that ball of bacon-fat are taking Eddie back to his cell right now."

"What?"

The Joker turned to see that he and Harley were looking at two different things; while she was watching the interview inside, which was as she pointed out clearly at an end, he was looking at a monitor which showed a number of wig-wag police lights coming up the bridge towards Arkham. His madman's green eyes darted along all of the monitors to see that one by one several of the patients were starting to brave their way out of their recently opened cell doors and wander tentatively up and down the hallways. At the same time, Gordon, Bullock, and the asylum personnel were attempting to guide them back into their cells. Desperately, he eyed the controls.

"Do any of these control the bridge, dear?" he asked.

Harley and her nearly perfect memory came through for him. "That switch right there, puddin'" she pointed to a switch, currently set to down.

"Thank you," he said as he began to laugh; first lightly and gradually working his way to near hysterics as he flipped the switch into the up position.

If it weren't for Bruce's deduction, Nightwing would have been curious as to why none of the Riddlers' thugs were anywhere in the building. As it was, despite having to go exclusively on foot once he was inside, he had no trouble getting to the most logical pressure point in the structure to place an explosive. Sure enough, there it was; a green box with a purple question mark stencilled on it. This time it was a box with a hinged lid on it. On the lid was a small sticker with four words printed on it:

WHAT DAY IS IT?

"What's this," Dick asked, "another riddle?"

"It must be," Bruce replied, "a clue about the bomb itself this time or a clue that will tell us his endgame."

"We already know his endgame," Dick shot back; almost hating himself for once again sounding too much like Jason. "We don't have time to play his little games." He started to open the box...

"Riddle me this;" Nygma said just as his escorts were about to shove him into his cell, "What day is it?"

Leading the pack, Alvarez and Brian Dustman were nearing the half way marker on the drawbridge as it began to rise...

"Wait, Dick! Don't open it yet!" Nightwing heard Bruce shout into the comm unit as he opened the box. His warning came about a heartbeat too late; before anything could be done, Dick Grayson found himself with a face full of pie. It was Raspberry cream pie, to be exact. This was in conjunction with a maniacal laughter they both knew all too well...

Before Brian could say anything, Alvarez slammed the accelerator to the floor, hoping to gain enough speed to jump the bridge. Looking straight ahead, he completely ignored the colorful commentary coming from the passenger seat as the cars behind him shrank in the rear-view mirror; sliding backwards down the grade of the bridge...

"What are you...?" Commissioner Gordon started to ask.

"April Fool!" a woman's voice called out in a singsong cheer over the PA system, followed by a pair of laughing voices; one the woman's, the other a man's.

Then the lights flickered, as if due to a power surge.

Then there was a dull thud from somewhere in the bowels of the asylum, followed by what felt like a small earthquake.

And then everything went out.


	6. 4:20 am

April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would believe a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."

2

3:00 am

Commissioner James Gordon and Inspector Harvey Bullock passed by the admittance desk at Arkham Asylum without a word to anyone; flashing their badges to get by the guards, orderlies, staff, and one intern who seemed more than a little out of place at this hour. Gordon made a note of her presence, certain that Harvey had, too. The most notable thing about her was that she just seemed a little too cheerful for anyone to be awake at this hour. On their way to see Nygma, Gordon went through a timeline in his mind:

Three hours ago he was jarred awake from a fitful sleep by the phone. The call was about the warehouse explosion. Thinking it might be about the escalating gangland tension; he benched Dustman and put Toussaint on it. The warehouse had been incinerated; and for over two hours there was nothing. Then, less than half an hour ago, he received a message from :

"Found concealed evidence at warehouse scene. Most likely suspect is Edward Nygma. Trademark clue is likely next target. Motive: unknown."

Gordon then promptly contacted Bullock to pull him off Falcone – who reported the shooter had to be Lawton – and called him in as part of the interrogation team on Nygma. Toussaint was a good cop, but nowhere near ready to deal with someone like the Riddler. Gordon charged her with heading up the hunt for Deadshot. Within minutes of that, Bullock and Gordon were on their way to Arkham; Bullock driving, Gordon on the phone arranging for Nygma to be put in an interview room. Those calls were completed by the time they were across the Arkham Drawbridge.

"I wonder what she's so hyped up about," Bullock commented, watching the intern skip down the adjacent hall they were heading up. "Prob'ly loaded up on those energy drinks or caffeine pills." Cute little thing, though, he thought. "Maybe she's got a couple to spare." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Harvey," Gordon said a little too curtly.

"Sorry, Jim," Bullock replied. "It's just this place; it gives me the creeps, y'know?"

James said nothing. If he was going to be honest, he couldn't blame his old partner for that. The place was eerie enough to give anyone the creeps, himself included.

"Hey, this is kinda like old times, ain't it?" Bullock said in a conversational tone. "The only thing missin' is O'Hare."

James stopped, turned, and gave Bullock the look; that look from the old days that said enough was enough, and it was time to get serious. Harvey knew the look all too well and snapped his big mouth shut. The two of them had been friends for far too long for him to take it personally; Jim's ability to focus on what needed doing was part of what got him the nod for the Commissioners' chair.

At the door of the interview room, James Gordon paused before they entered to where the Riddler was waiting, silent and wearing what appeared to be a nervous grin on his face.

"We do this the way we discussed in the car," the Commissioner said. Bullock nodded. The plan was for Bullock to present as muscle, and for Gordon to do the talking.

Dick Grayson growled in frustration.

"Calm down, Dick," Bruce said in the muted tones he normally reserved for when the Batman was talking to allies regarding a case. After he had sent his message to the Commissioner, the two of them got to work on the equations in the crossword puzzle; Bruce on the across clues and Dick on the down. Even with his head still not fully in the game, Bruce finished his part about five minutes earlier. That was not the cause of Dick's frustration. The concept that the puzzle was a numeric code of some sort was not lost on either one of them.

"But none of this makes any sense!" Dick argued. "None of the ciphers we've tried make anything other than a nonsensical mess of letters!" He snapped the paper up from the table they were working on, and paced around the Cave with it. "I almost hate to admit it, but I actually wish that Question were here. He's weird enough to see whatever it is we're missing."

"But he isn't here," Bruce pointed out. "This is up to us." He folded his hands together, tapping the tip of his nose with his fingertips. It really was starting to appear as if Nygma had finally managed to stump him this time. Dick was right; no cipher was proving effective. It wasn't each number or pair of numbers to represent a letter in the order they appear in the alphabet, adding each individual box in each numeric didn't work, no variation or combination to find the letter based on any version of the answers worked in accordance to the algebraic that appeared in each equation proved effective. Nothing seemed to be working. What was Riddler doing with this one?

"Pardon the interruption, sirs," Alfred said, standing at the Cave entrance from the Manor. "I thought you might both appreciate a cup of tea while you work out Mr. Nygma's latest brain teaser."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, waving his oldest friend in.

Alfred stepped into the Cave, and gently set the tea set he was carrying onto the table. "If I may, sirs, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps you were over thinking the matter somehow? Perhaps the answer is much simpler than it appears on the surface."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dick asked.

"Only that sometimes, Master Dick," Alfred replied, "the trick to a riddle is distraction. The speaker of the riddle gets you looking at one thing when you should be looking at another."

Bruce looked up as Alfred left, passing Dick as he did so. That was when he saw it; the paper had something typed on the back of the sheet.

"Bring that back over here, Dick," he said.

Dick handed the sheet to Bruce, who studied the puzzle for a second before turning the sheet over to see what was written of the back:

"Look at the forest, not the trees."

Bruce flipped the sheet back over and set it down on the table. With a ballpoint pen he began to quickly circle each of the algebraic letters in each equation, and then he wrote each one down in the order they appeared along the bottom of the sheet.

"I can't believe I missed this!" Bruce exclaimed, lifting the paper so Dick could see it.

Dick read:

"Forestry awareness exhibition Edgegate Shopping Center." He said aloud.

"Go," Bruce said.

Nightwing left, making sure their connections were good. As he was leaving, Bruce sent another message to the Commissioner from to give him the location of the next explosive. He then logged into the com and cam that Dick was equipped with, and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

Something wasn't right about this; the solution was too simple. Alfred had a point about distraction and misdirection, but still this wasn't really the way Nygma did things. He felt like they were both missing something, but couldn't quite grasp what it was.

3

3:30 am

Richard Gavin paid the cab driver and hustled to the storage room that doubled as an office at Edgegate Shopping Center, wondering how he allowed himself to get roped into picking up the extra hours. He unlocked the door, let himself in, and clutched the Uni-Phone to check into the shift that he agreed to pick up for some insane reason that he could no longer remember; though it might come back to him when he saw the results on his paystub. By the time he got himself geared up and had the office door locked, he could already hear the call of Gotham's finest in the distance; gradually getting closer. They're probably on high alert after that warehouse thing, he reasoned.

Rounding the corner of the south building of the complex, he was nearly knocked over as a motorcycle zoomed past him and then came to a screeching halt along the curb; in a spot clearly marked as a no parking zone. Gavin picked up his pace a little to step up and tell the rider off, but the rider actually came to him.

"The Forestry Exhibit," the rider demanded. "Where is it?"

"The North Lot, in front of Oliver's," Gavin replied. "But..."

The rider turned and ran towards the north lot before Gavin could finish, warning him to stay back as he left. Richard ran after him, and caught up to find him at the exhibition; sweeping the grounds with a flashlight, as if he was looking for something. The sirens were really close now.

At Arkham, Harley Quinzel sat in Dr. Crane's office chair, pushing herself back and forth across the room on its wheels as she observed several of the monitors he had set to watch specific rooms. Once she had regained her equilibrium from spinning the chair until it was the room that was spinning and not her and after she finally found a setting of the chair she liked, she got down to the business of watching and waiting. Waiting mainly for her beeper to let her know where Bat-boy was in finding the surprises; but also for Eddie to give the signal for the big surprise. Watching a couple of things; of course there was Mr. J, standing in his room all handsome and suave in front of his specialized transparent door. Then there was that Crocodile Man, holding still just like he was told to until the time was right. Finally there was Eddie in the interview room with Gordon and his goon. Eddie was doing a good job stalling.

The Police had arrived at Edgegate, and began to set up a perimeter. Nightwing noted this, and that SWAT was setting up to come in with explosive handling gear. There was that, and also the maintenance kid was in the exhibit site.

"There's a lot of ground to cover here...Batman..." he said to comm, almost using Bruce's real name, "and not a lot of time if we take Penguin's Class Action into account." He turned to the kid, "I thought I told you to clear out of here! There's a bomb!"

The kid started to back away.

Seeing that Gavin was moving away from the exhibit, Bruce watched what Dick was scanning through thee monitors in the Cave. He quickly began to deduce the most likely place for the bomb to be; not the tree display, they were to look at the forest and not the trees. Not sprinkler system, the source was too far removed to be of any significance. The brochure display was empty at the moment, so if it was there it would be immediately visible. It had to be somewhere where it would do significant damage yet be concealed...

At Arkham, the Joker stood patiently at the transparent door of his cage; waiting for the moment of truth. Gordon and his goon were in place; trying to get answers from Nygma, that meant the first part of his prank went through. It also meant that he got the attention of Bat-breath and it certainly appeared that Harley had done her part to him nicely distracted until it was time for his punch line. He let out a stifled giggle of anticipation.

Killer Croc heard the two Pigs squealing as they passed by; Gordon and Bullock by the smell of them. Gordon with too much aftershave and Bullock reeked of chilidogs. If the little blonde monkey was telling the truth, the real signal would be coming soon. Then he would be free, and this time he would make no mistakes to get himself locked in here again.

Edward Nygma maintained his smile and kept himself from blinking despite the stinging sweat dripping into them from his brow. Why he had been feeling so nervous, so utterly terrified, nearly to the point of paralysis of late was a mystery to even him. _Riddle me this..._

"I can see you're quite nervous about something, Edward," Commissioner Gordon said, "like something is weighing on you. Tell us what it is, and we'll let you get back to your cell, safe and sound."

Riddler said nothing.

"Is it the bombs? Where are they, Edward?" Gordon asked. "It's not like you to put people in immediate danger; certainly not without allowing us the chance to do something about it. Please, Edward, hit us with one of your mind teasers. I'm ready."

Riddler glanced at Gordon, then at Bullock, and then shot a quick glance at the camera hidden behind the mirror. _Not yet, _he thought, _but soon, very soon..._

"Start with the cashier booth at the centre of the exhibit," Nightwing heard Bruce suggest over the comm.

Without a word, he dashed to the booth to find it locked. He reared up and kicked the door open; it gave way without much effort at all. Inside there was a desk with a strong box, left open and emptied, and a laptop computer, folded closed but left on. At the desk was a chair, and to left of the chair a cabinet. Pushing the chair aside, Nightwing tried the cabinet; it was locked. He gave it a solid yank and easily broke the lock. Not having time to think about how lax the security system was here, he peered inside the cabinet and saw a green bow with a purple question mark stenciled on it.

"I think I found it." He said.

"I see it," Bruce replied. "Are there any visible wires on the exterior?"

Nightwing inspected the box. "No." He answered.

"Try to remove the casing," Bruce instructed. "Be careful."

Once again, Dick found himself biting his tongue to avoid snapping off a Toddist remark as he complied. The top of the box turned out to be a farce; he merely had to lift it off and toss it aside to see the device it contained.

"Holy basic set up, Batman!" he exclaimed. The words shot out of his mouth before he realized it. The truth was that it was a basic set up; any amateur could have rigged this. The wiring color scheme was different, but the principal was just about the simplest explosive device he had ever seen. Almost by reflex, he grabbed a pair of wire snips from his belt.

"Be careful, Dick!" Bruce warned. "It could be a trick. Things are almost never as simple as they seem with the Riddler." That was true; as the Batman had learned from years of experience. Something about this whole affair was not sitting right with him. It was almost as if Nygma wanted this bomb found and disarmed. The question to ask was why. Maybe that was the real riddle here.

"There's a timer display, but nothing on it," Dick announced almost argumentatively. "We have no idea how much time we have, I don't see much choice."

Bruce gritted his teeth as watched Dick study the wiring configuration, deciding which wire to cut first. Finally he cut the green one first, which caused the timer to light up to reveal there was four minutes and twenty-two seconds remaining. Within two seconds, he cut the purple wire next.

The timer stopped.

Harley's beeper beeped. The bomb had been disarmed. Harley let out a sigh of relief at that; this one could have hurt a lot of people if Bat-brain messed up, even this early in the morning. She was even willing to bet that Mr J would have been upset if it went off and blew the Bat into a zillion pieces. She should know; she was the only one who really understood him. Mr J would want to be up close and personal when the Bat bought the farm; he might even keep him alive. It was Harley's belief that Mr J subconsciously needed the Bat to be his counterweight in life; something to balance out the universe and keep the world functional. Mr J needed an enemy in order to be Mr J. Or maybe it was Batman that needed Mr J. Then again, maybe they needed each other.

Harley gave her head a shake. No time for such deep thoughts now. She had a job to do. Grabbing the Uni -phone one of Eddies' goons on the outside gave her, she flipped it to the mail page where she selected the drafts section. Once she found the one she was looking for – it had all the domains it was supposed to go already set up- she hit send. Once that was done, she set the Uni-phone down and returned to the main control panel in Dr. Crane's office. There, she went eenie-meanie-miney- Moe until her pointer finger landed on a switch meant to unlock all the cell room doors.

"I wonder what this does?" she cackled as she flipped the switch.

4

3:40 am

The _click _of the lock for his door was so soft even Killer Croc could barely hear it. It was almost time to make his move.

"When the lights go out," the blonde monkey had said, "that's when the party starts." She told him this as she was cutting tiny slits into the restraints of his jacket and filing one of the links in his shackles. Since the Bat and that girl-pig got the drop on him a few months back, the keeper- monkeys put him in new and improved restraints; his teeth and his jaws couldn't tear through them. With the alterations provided by the blonde monkey, though, he would have no problem just muscling his way out.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked. This was the second time she helped him.

"Don't get any ideas about you and me, Crocodile breath," she had replied. "All of this is for Mr J."

Croc snorted a light laugh. She had a thing for the clown. _Takes all kinds... _he supposed.

Standing at his door, Joker was listening intently for his cue. Just as he imagined the reptile did, he heard the soft _click _of the door unlocking. Perhaps some of the other inmates heard it, perhaps not. It was also possible, even likely, that many of them would be cringing in their beds in horror because of the toxin that Crane was dousing them all in. None of that really mattered any more.

"Good girl, Harley," he giggled as he went to his bunk, reached under the mattress and produced a syringe which he palmed before gently sliding his door open.

At Edgegate, the SWAT goon named Alvarez shoved Richard Gavin aside just as his Uni-phone whistled at him to indicate he had an incoming message. It struck him as odd, especially since it appeared as if the detective that grilled him a few months back got a message at the exact same time, and Nightwing paused to look at the laptop in the booth.

"What the hell?" he heard the detective say as he went to check the message.

"Hold up, Alvarez!" Nightwing heard Dustman shout as both Knox and Vale pushed their way onto the scene. Choosing to ignore them, Nightwing flipped the laptop open to find it set to read the email that it just indicated was waiting.

It read:

What was a mystery  
is now a gift.  
What is a gift  
is soon history.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away and always will.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away until it stands still.

"Time," Bruce said to him in the comm.

Of course that was it. It played on the idea that today is a gift, so we call it the present; but what did it mean?

"...Downtown!" he heard someone in the crowd shout. Nightwing looked up to locate the source of the shout and found it; it was the kid, who was jumping up and down like he had an uncontrollable urge to urinate. He heard Bruce mutter the name 'Gavin' as he stepped out of the booth and waved the kid over. The kid came up to him.

"Your name's Gavin, right?" Nightwing asked.

"Yeah," the kid replied, a little stunned.

"Okay, good." Nightwing nodded. "What did you just say back there?"

The kid held up his phone to show the same poem on the laptop. "It's the old clock tower, downtown. It was built, like, a century ago as a gift from someplace, and it stopped something like ten years ago. City council keeps it up as an historical landmark. Because it's stopped, it stands still."

Nightwing looked at Gavin skeptically.

"It fits," Bruce said into the comm. "It's really direct, but that seems to be the game Riddler is playing tonight." As Dick fled the scene to hurry to the old clock tower, Bruce still felt uncomfortable with how easy all of this was. True, Nygma was probably limited in what he could do, but there was usually a method to his schemes; this only barely fit the pattern. He began to run it down:

First: an explosion without warning. It was set to go up and burn itself out with minimal difficulty. Obviously meant to get his attention and nothing else, really, other than introduce the first clue.

Second: a puzzle that is really a diversion from the actual solution. Was that to buy time, or is the simplicity part of what he's doing? Why the distraction of the crossword? Why not just the proverb on the back of the sheet?

Third: a remarkably simple explosive device. So simple in fact, that any punk with a copy of that underground rag _Mayhem for Morons _could have put it together. It was almost as if it was supposed to get disarmed. The question is why? Is this to get them to an end game? Is the tower the final piece? That was possible; the carnage of that going up right downtown would be catastrophic even in the early morning. The problem with that theory was that such outright terrorism was unusual for Nygma. Had he gone even deeper into his madness?

Whistling a familiar circus tune, Joker walked nonchalantly along until he got to Dr. Crane's office door. The good Doctor had override controls over the entire facility, which of course was a completely insane idea on his part; after all what would happen if one of his more unstable patients were to happen to gain access to the room? Joker decided that he should knock on the door and check on the good doctor, just to make sure the place was safe. He chuckled lightly as he opened the door just a crack to take a little peek.

"Hello?" he called out in quiet sing-song voice. "Is everything all right in here?"

The door flew open and the Joker found himself in a bear hug so tight he actually thought for a moment that at least one of his ribs might crack under the pressure. It wasn't until he found himself lip-locked that he realized he had instinctively gripped Harley's waist the second she jumped him, wrapping her legs around him. After a quick round of tonsil hockey, Harley broke off the kiss with a loud smack.

"Easy, my harlequin!" he said, straining to breathe. "Daddy's glad to see you too, but he needs some air right now!"

Apologizing sheepishly, Harley dropped to her feet and skipped her way back to where all the controls were and began to show him how everything was working out just like how he and Riddler said it would; even Killer Croc was playing along. He had gotten himself loose of his bindings and was waiting as calm as a clam.

By the time Dick had gotten to the tower, it was getting close to 4:00 in the morning. Anticipating the possibility of guards at the tower or obstacles along the way, Bruce had Dick take a route that was less direct than he would have liked, but effective for concealing his movements. He had also sent Gordon another message courtesy of D. Knight to alert him of the clock tower; it was probably unnecessary, as it appeared as if Lt. Dustman had sent his entire team off to the tower as well. If the tower was Riddlers' end game, then there was no way he had enough men at his disposal to avoid being overwhelmed by this force. While monitoring Nightwings' moves, Bruce ran an historical check on the old clock tower and cross referenced it with Nygma's criminal record. He found nothing to suggest any motive. _What is he doing? _

"We know about the clock tower, Nygma."

Edward Nygma shifted in his seat; it was obvious to Jim that that piece of information was significant. He also noted an ever so slight change in the expression Riddler wore on his face. Gordon expected to see some kind of agitation, but that wasn't what he saw at all; he saw relief.

"Other than what looks like the entire Gotham police force and a media circus, I don't see anyone here," Nightwing said into the comm as he observed the scene from atop the new clock tower, which was directly across the street from the old one. The old clock tower was indeed standing still at four twenty.

"Batman," Nightwing said as a thought occurred to him, "how many of the equations in the first puzzle contained the digits 4, 2, and 0 in that order?"

A brief pause as Bruce checked. "All of them," he replied.

"The timer at the exhibit stopped at four minutes and twenty seconds, and the old tower is stopped at twenty minutes past four. I bet the next bomb is set to go off then."

"That's likely," Bruce confirmed. "Chances are it is set to release some kind of chemical agent, too."

For a second, Nightwing was about to question how he came to that, then remembered the police code for drug related offence. In any case, he had about twenty minutes to find and deactivate the bomb. Since it looked like the Riddler was slipping up a lot this time, he figured the night was just about over.

As Dick swung across the street and into the old tower, Bruce still felt like he was missing something. With the Riddler, there was always another layer beneath the apparent one; always.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees. _

There was no way this caper of his was this simple. There had to be more to it.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

He had to know that a series of bombs would attract this kind of attention. Was this all so he could stay relevant? Was that the motive?  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

_"Sometimes, the trick to a riddle is distraction..."  
Look at the forest, not the trees. _

"Oh, no," Bruce muttered.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick, I need you to listen very carefully." Bruce replied. "I'm going to get word to Commissioner Gordon to send as many units as possible to Arkham. You find that bomb and deactivate it. Everything tonight has been a diversion. Riddler is planning an escape."

5

4:00 am

_To GPD:  
From  
Re: Bombing motives_

_Bombs in City are easy to find and disarm. They are clearly intended as a diversion from real plan to escape Arkham. All available unit order to asylum is advised. Include a bomb squad. The Clock Tower is being handled. _

Commissioner James Gordon blinked just once when he read the message. When his beeper went off to indicate an incoming message, he stepped out of the interview room, leaving Nygma with Bullock. Immediately after, he switched his new fangled fancy phone gizmo to the actual phone function and dialled HQ. It was easier for him to just dial than to try and remember the speed code.

"O'Hare."

"Patrick," Gordon greeted, barely louder than a whisper. "It's me."

"Commissioner," the Chief greeted back just a little too cheerfully. "Have you had any luck with Nygma?"

"Never mind that, Patrick," Gordon replied. "I have learned from a very reliable source that his endgame is here at Arkham. I need you to send all available units and SWAT with an explosives kit here right now."

"But what about the Tower, sir?" the chief asked.

"My source assures me the Tower is being handled."

"By source, do you mean..."

"If you don't ask, Patrick," Gordon cut him off. He knew he would not have to finish the statement; Patrick O'Hare would know that he meant that by not being asked, he wouldn't have to lie. The Batman was still wanted by Police, after all, thanks to that sleazy excuse of a man Cobblepot.

"Right, sir," O'Hare replied without question or any further probing the matter. That was good. If it got out that the Police were getting aid from a fugitive, it would set everything back to where it was before; especially if the likes of Cobblepot and Dustman had a chance to spin it right.

James Gordon hung up and headed back to the interview room.

"You know, Bullock," they heard Gordon say in the speakers in Dr. Cranes' office; "I really don't think he's going to talk."

"Ummm, I think this is starting to go a teensy bit south on us, Mr J." Harley said with nervous anticipation.

"Uh-oh," Joker commented back; not really paying her much mind.

"Tell me about it," Harley said, not even noticing Jokers' apparent indifference. "Gordon and that ball of bacon-fat are taking Eddie back to his cell right now."

"What?"

The Joker turned to see that he and Harley were looking at two different things; while she was watching the interview inside, which was as she pointed out clearly at an end, he was looking at a monitor which showed a number of wig-wag police lights coming up the bridge towards Arkham. His madman's green eyes darted along all of the monitors to see that one by one several of the patients were starting to brave their way out of their recently opened cell doors and wander tentatively up and down the hallways. At the same time, Gordon, Bullock, and the asylum personnel were attempting to guide them back into their cells. Desperately, he eyed the controls.

"Do any of these control the bridge, dear?" he asked.

Harley and her nearly perfect memory came through for him. "That switch right there, puddin'" she pointed to a switch, currently set to down.

"Thank you," he said as he began to laugh; first lightly and gradually working his way to near hysterics as he flipped the switch into the up position.

If it weren't for Bruce's deduction, Nightwing would have been curious as to why none of the Riddlers' thugs were anywhere in the building. As it was, despite having to go exclusively on foot once he was inside, he had no trouble getting to the most logical pressure point in the structure to place an explosive. Sure enough, there it was; a green box with a purple question mark stencilled on it. This time it was a box with a hinged lid on it. On the lid was a small sticker with four words printed on it:

WHAT DAY IS IT?

"What's this," Dick asked, "another riddle?"

"It must be," Bruce replied, "a clue about the bomb itself this time or a clue that will tell us his endgame."

"We already know his endgame," Dick shot back; almost hating himself for once again sounding too much like Jason. "We don't have time to play his little games." He started to open the box...

"Riddle me this;" Nygma said just as his escorts were about to shove him into his cell, "What day is it?"

Leading the pack, Alvarez and Brian Dustman were nearing the half way marker on the drawbridge as it began to rise...

"Wait, Dick! Don't open it yet!" Nightwing heard Bruce shout into the comm unit as he opened the box. His warning came about a heartbeat too late; before anything could be done, Dick Grayson found himself with a face full of pie. It was Raspberry cream pie, to be exact. This was in conjunction with a maniacal laughter they both knew all too well...

Before Brian could say anything, Alvarez slammed the accelerator to the floor, hoping to gain enough speed to jump the bridge. Looking straight ahead, he completely ignored the colorful commentary coming from the passenger seat as the cars behind him shrank in the rear-view mirror; sliding backwards down the grade of the bridge...

"What are you...?" Commissioner Gordon started to ask.

"April Fool!" a woman's voice called out in a singsong cheer over the PA system, followed by a pair of laughing voices; one the woman's, the other a man's.

Then the lights flickered, as if due to a power surge.

Then there was a dull thud from somewhere in the bowels of the asylum, followed by what felt like a small earthquake.

And then everything went out.

6

4:20 am

The lights were out.

According to the blonde monkey, it was time. Judging from the confusion just outside his door, Killer Croc figured he could add just the right kind of mayhem to really make it a party...

Down the hall, a door burst open and Killer Croc leaped out, growling and snarling. Commissioner Gordon half turned away from Riddler to see Croc grab an orderly and toss him in his direction. That was all Nygma needed to make a move of his own. With unexpected agility, Riddler spun and planted his knee firmly in Gordon's crotch. The impact and the dull, overwhelming ache that followed crumpled the Commissioner to the floor. As he collapsed breathlessly, Riddler snatched his sidearm from the holster and shot Bullock in the leg before the grizzled old vet could respond. The thunderous crack of the pistol and Bullocks howl as his kneecap blew out echoed through the hall, adding to the pandemonium, allowing Riddler to dash away towards a staircase nearby...

"Wahoo-hoo-ha-ha-ha..." Joker laughed. "Well done, Harley my dear, well done!" He was genuinely pleased with her work; the EMP was perfectly placed. This little girl had some real potential to be some real fun.

"You really think so, Puddin'?"

The Joker took her hand gently in his and began to lead her out of the office. "Oh, absolutely, my dear," he reassured her. The lack of self esteem was just about the only thing working against her. She was perfect for his purposes. "But now we really have to be moving."

"Whatever you say, Mr. J," Harley smiled and squealed like a schoolgirl as her clown prince led her out of the office and into the chaos outside. Just before she hit the detonator, she watched the cop cars slide back down the bridge; all except one which tried to floor it and make a jump. She knew she should be shocked and appalled at what her Puddin had done. Those cops could be hurt or dead right now. Thing was, she didn't feel at all bad for them. They were coming to try to stop them, and their jobs demanded that they risk their lives every single day; especially in a town like Gotham. As far as she was concerned, they were fair game...

Ramon Alvarez and Brian Dustman had barely cleared the gap in the bridge, just about to touch down on the other side when everything went dark and silent; the lights in the asylum, the gears raising the bridge, their radio, the wig-wags, everything just went dead. Just before that, Alvarez was sure he felt something like a shockwave. An EMP; it had to be. The pulse blast was just distracting enough to make their landing rough. The downhill grade caught him off guard and the car spun out, crashing sideways into the point where the bridge split from the road...

"Dick?" Bruce called into the comm. "Are you there? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Nightwing said back, still a little stunned at getting pie in the face for all his trouble tonight. He wiped as much as he could off with the back of his hand. "That laugh track..."

"The Joker," Bruce finished for him. "With him in the picture, this has gone from bad to worse."

"I have to get to Arkham."

"Come back to the Cave first," Bruce ordered, sounding more like Batman by the second. "I want to do a toxicology test on you. There's a good chance you've been drugged." For a brief moment, Dick wondered if Bruce was even aware of how his tone had changed.

"With the Joker in this little game, there's no time for that," Nightwing argued. "I'm going straight to Arkham; we'll just have to risk it." Before Bruce could anything else, Dick disconnected the comm. He left the visual up as he began to rappel down the tower towards the bike...

_Tick-Toc! _Riddler reminded himself as gracefully weaved his way through the pandemonium around him, making his way towards the rooms where the patients' possessions were being kept. It didn't worry him that he was relying on what the intern Quinzel had told him about its whereabouts. She was actually much brighter than most people realized, and had a remarkably good memory; not eidetic like his own, but as close as one can get to it, he imagined. Still, time was short, and already the guards and the orderlies were making progress in regaining control over several of the more timid patients. Of course, with Croc running around and bashing everything in sight, the chaos levels were indeed being kept up, much to the Clown's delight, Nygma was sure. That was another element to consider; with Joker in the game, there was no telling what sort of monkey wrench was going to end up in the works. That kind of unpredictability and utter lack of fair play was what made Joker dangerous; both to everyone around him and to himself Riddler assessed. Lastly, there was Gordon and Harvey to think about. Well, Gordon, anyway. His kick wouldn't keep him down long, and the Commissioner was bound to want his firearm back. As for the Batman, Nygma was certain the 'explosives' throughout Gotham would keep him occupied; unless he solved the riddles quickly enough. That seemed unlikely, given what the news and the rumors said about Croc doing a number on him during his previous escape and the Penguins' litigation leaving the Bat basically hamstrung.

As little as he liked to admit it, Riddler had to give it up for that short, pudgy snow bird. His little ploy worked out very nicely for him. Once out, he might have to contact Cobblepot...

"Never mind me, rookie!" Bullock barked at Gordon while medical staff attended to him blown out knee. "Go get that son of a bitch!"

For a minute, James Gordon was stunned; hearing Harvey talk to him like that, as if they were back in the days when Gordon was a rookie detective, had the effect of taking him back to that time and place. Bullock was taking out his pistol and holding out for him to take, and Gordon snapped out of his mini trance to take it...

The cruiser was dead, of course. Never mind the fact it was on its side and half wrapped around a post; the pulse from EMP would have fried it anyway. Checking the scenario, Alvarez started with Dustman, who was alive, but out like a light on the pavement. He had no life threatening injuries, and was clear of the car. The old drawbridge from the mainland to Arkham Island was stuck in a part way up position. He could barely hear his team trying to regroup on the other side. From his side of the bridge, it sounded like a riot in the asylum...

When he arrived at the bridge to Arkham Island, Nightwing paused long enough to turn the comm unit back on and assess the situation before him. He saw police cruisers piled up on one end of the bridge, and cops, mostly SWAT, regrouping themselves and attempting to discern just what happened. The Bridge was partly drawn. None of the cars seemed to be in any condition to operate. None of the SWAT or anybody was radioing in or anything. They were also too preoccupied to even notice his presence.

"What gives," he asked into the comm.

"Total blackout," Bruce replied, "most likely a small EMP originating on the island. You really should come back and get a tox test."

"With Arkham blacked out?" Nightwing countered. "You have got to be kidding." As if that settled the matter, Nightwing gunned the engine, retreated a distance, and sped towards the ramp of the bridge...

Originally, the idea was to steal one of the cars from the parking lot and race across the bridge, where he and Harley would ditch the car in favor of one that was waiting for them on the other side. Until the boys in blue showed up, that was the idea. With the power knocked out by the EMP, the bridge would be all but impossible to lift, so there would be no way to stop them. Then Gotham's lamest had to come along and ruin the party; forcing him to raise the bridge to keep them out. The Joker surprised himself in that he was actually disappointed that the Bat hadn't shown up. Maybe the Penguin really did clip the Bat's wings, after all. Should he be thanked, or snuffed?

Oh well, when uninvited guests come and crash the party, you improvise, and hope the fun doesn't die. Well, to the Joker, the party got even more entertaining. Besides, there was always another way off the island. The Riddler had one of his henchmen work his way onto the staff, and leave a dingy on the other end of the asylum, for example; and since Nygma would not be able to leave without his cane, Joker decided it was best that the Riddler be voted to stay on the island. It was a fitting penalty for being so impractical. Even better; Croc was bashing a clear path ahead of them as he lead Harley by the hand through the carnage left in Killer Croc's wake...

Nightwing made the jump and touched down safely on the other side of the bridge. He came to a halt just a few feet away from a wrecked car; SWAT issue, by the look of it. Just outside, an officer in hard shell armor was attending to a detective.

"That's Ramon Alvarez and Brian Dustman," Bruce announced in the comm. "I don't know about Alvarez, but Dustman is as dirty as they come. I'm sure he's either on Penguin's payroll, or Mask's."

"Maybe he's playing both ends," Nightwing commented quietly as he dismounted.

"Maybe," Bruce said.

"That's a dangerous game."

"It is; high risk, high reward potential."

Alvarez, the SWAT man, looked up and saw him coming. His body language showed that he had no intention of protesting the presence of a masked vigilante on the scene; it was likely he reasoned that they needed all the bodies they could get.

"It looks like a botched escape attempt," Alvarez said. "Something in the Riddlers' plan backfired."

Nightwing shook his head. "No. This is part of it. Nygma and Joker are in this together. Best guess is they plan to escape in the chaos."

"The Joker's in on this? Oh, for..." Alvarez did a quick check on Dustman, who was regaining consciousness. "You're alright, sir," Alvarez said to the corrupt detective. "Just sit tight, I'll send a medic to you." Then Alvarez glanced at Nightwing. "I'll go for Riddler, you take the clown!" He shouted before taking off towards the entrance...

_There it is! _Edward Nygma cackled with glee when he finally found his cane amongst the other rubbish in the store room for inmate belongings. As the noise and clamor was dying down, he reasoned it was not a moment too soon. It would appear that either Croc was clear, or he was subdued. Not that it much mattered anymore; all that mattered now was that he had a boat to catch.

Riddler turned to exit the room when he heard footsteps approaching...

James Gordon could hear the commotion upstairs was very nearly settled. That was good; it meant that the inmates were nearly back under control, and all effort could be focused on subduing Killer Croc, recapturing Napier, and tracking down Nygma. Gordon knew he came this way; likely to get that stupid cane of his. That meant he was heading for locker room B. James was there when it was placed in the room, so he knew the way.

When he got there, the door was open. This was an older wing of the Asylum, so the locks weren't electric. Obviously Nygma had a key of some sort. The question was, was he still in there, or had he left already? Only one way to find out...

The Bird-Kid got ahead of him when Alvarez stopped to grab a medic and direct her to where Brian was laid out. Deciding it didn't really matter, he pressed on until he found another medic attending to Harvey Bullock, who was apparently shot in the knee. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy, Alvarez reasoned out. He should have got with the Program when he had the chance.

"Harvey," Alvarez said. "Which way...?"

"The Bird-Kid went that way," Bullock cut him off, groaning in pain. "He was talking to himself, or wearing some kind of wire. Gordon went after Nygma that way." He pointed away from the strewn out bodies.

The Bird-Kid's on comm, Alvarez realized. The Bat is watching everything from his Cave, wherever that is. Without another word, Ramon Alvarez went after Gordon and the Riddler...

Once outside, Killer Croc paused to sniff the air. Sure, it was fresh compared to the Monkey House, but something still lingered; a goat stink mixed with that junk-food carnival smell. There was only one thing in the world with a stink like that. He turned around and sure enough, right on his tail was the Clown; but he had the blonde Monkey with him. Was she a hostage? No, she was cooperating like a school girl following a crush.

"What do you want, clown?"

"Why, nothing at all!" the Clown replied, wearing that aggravating, ever-present grin. "Simply to say thank you for clearing a path for us; I promised Harley here a romantic cruise right after our little getaway, and I think it's high time we hit the high seas." The Clown bowed, snickering like a hyena as he pointed the blonde Monkey towards a dingy.

Croc turned away as the pair got the dingy ready. He could hear them climbing inside, ready to go when something caught his attention in the air...

"The Bird-Kid," Croc grumbled. And then he was gone.

Harley couldn't help but gasp when Nightwing swung in from thin air, landing less than ten feet away. Mr. J was, of all things, laughing with what sounded like glee.

"Well," Mr. J exclaimed. "I guess I should be careful what I wish for, eh? I was hoping for the Bat, but I suppose the original Boy-Blunder will do." He laughed, as if to a joke only he understood. Harley got it; she just didn't think it was very funny. Mr. J thought he needed the Bat to make him complete, and Nightwing was the next best thing. She would have to do something about that, if they got out of this.

"It's over, Joker," Nightwing declared, sounding more like that no good Bat than Harley expected.

What happened next was so quick that it made Harley's head spin a little. Mr. J stopped laughing, grabbed her from behind around the neck and from his sleeve produced a dripping syringe, which he held with the point just barely touching the skin behind her eye. Nightwing had one of those throwy-thingies out and ready to fly, but hesitated. For a fraction of a second Harley could swear she saw him flinch to one side; like something was in his ear.

"Back off, Boy-Blunder," Mr. J snarled. "Or I swear to God, and hope you die, I'll stick this needle in her eye!" He began to titter with joyful laughter. Harley couldn't believe this was happening; her puddin' was going to kill her! Unless this was a bluff, betting that the Junior Bat wouldn't risk her life. That must be it! Suppressing her urge to laugh with puddin', she did her best to play along and act afraid for her life...

_Just a little closer, Commissioner... _Edward Nygma had ducked deeper into the room to lure James Gordon in. The former detective remembered to clear the passage before entering, as Riddler knew he would. The Commissioner was still careless, though; he didn't wait for back up. Just like Riddler anticipated he might do. He could see Gordon, but Gordon couldn't see him. He set the gun down and raised his cane overhead as Gordon carefully inched his way through the dark, ever closer to where Riddler was hiding. Nygma waited until Gordon was within striking distance before hitting him in the base of the skull with the cane, knocking him out and dropping him to the cold linoleum at their feet.

He took a single step forward to make a break for the dingy his man left waiting for him, and stopped cold. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the Commissioner's pistol where he left it. He stepped back, picked up the gun, and aimed it at James Gordon's head. He had yet to kill anyone, but this was too much to pass up; a chance to be known as the man who killed Commissioner Gordon. Even better, it was a chance to kill him with his own gun. _Riddle me this; what's bigger than that? _

"Drop it, Nygma!"

Edward Nygma glanced up with a start. Right there, blocking the doorway was a man as big as a house in full SWAT gear. He had a weapon trained on him. In a panic, Riddler raised the gun his hand towards the SWAT man, who fired a single shot which caught the Riddler in the shoulder and spun him to the floor in shock and dismay. A second later, the SWAT man, Alvarez, according to his nameplate, had him covered as he shouted for help. A moment later, a prison guard was in the room with a medic to assist.

"So what's it going to be, junior?" Bruce could hear the Joker taunting through the comm. He had an intern hostage, holding a needle to her eye. Experience had taught him, the hard way that the Joker wasn't bluffing; he'd plunge that syringe and its contents into that poor girl if Dick gave him a reason to. Chances were good he'd do it anyway, though. 

"Can you tag him?" Bruce asked.

"Yes," Dick replied under his breath.

"Then take the shot." Bruce determined that if Dick said he could, then he could. There was no need to question that.

Without warning, the view from Dick's micro-cam shifted sideways; Bruce saw the Joker zip out of sight and could hear him laughing shrilly as Dick was suddenly submerged in the river and the screen filled with a maw of teeth before the cam shorted out.

Cackling, the Joker moved the syringe away from Harley's eye and shoved her a little too roughly towards the small engine mounted on the dingy as he watched the spot where Croc took the original Boy-Blunder under water.

"Start the engine, Hare," he ordered between cackles.

"Sure thing, Mr. J," Harley replied.

It took her a few tries, but the engine finally did roar into life and they began to move away from the island just as a mess of blood and viscera bubbled to the surface of the water. There was no sign of either the Bird-Boy or Croc.

Harley guided the boat to the far side of the river; outside of the City limits, where a third car was waiting for them. Joker stepped off the dingy and helped Harley off.

"Uh, Mr. J," Harley asked, "You weren't really gonna stick that needle in my eye, were ya?" She managed a weak, apprehensive smile.

The Joker took her in his arms gently and held her close to him. "Of course not, my dear," he said reassuringly. He let her go, and peered into her eyes. "If I did that, then you wouldn't see it happening." He laughed maniacally as he stuck the needle into her shoulder, compressed the plunger, and shoved her to the ground like an unwanted toy. The shocked look frozen on her face as her eyes took on that dull cow glaze was too much for him to him bear and he broke into hysterics as he made his way to the car waiting for him.

Killer Croc gasped for air once he came to the surface at the edge of the swamp. Wasting no time, he moved deeper into the murk and mire which he intended to make his new home. With the taste of the Bird-Kid still in his mouth, he had no doubt that it was only a matter of time before the Bat came looking for him, so he had to make sure he knew the terrain to ensure he had the advantage. Hopefully the Clown would get up to something big enough to buy him some time.


	7. Epilogue

April 1, 2:00 am:

Two hours ago, at the stroke of Midnight according to the new Clock Tower in Central Gotham, an explosion in the warehouse district lit up the night with a ball of flame. The warehouse that went up was a long vacated storehouse for Gags, Games, and Jokes, a shop that went under years ago. The Fire department was there within five minutes and had it put out quickly; their report would later state the blaze burned hot and fast, and virtually burnt itself out with very little need or effort on their part.

The place had been a popular spot for vagrants to squat in, especially in the winter months, but none were known to be there at the time. In fact, a few would later report that a bunch of security guards had come by about an hour before and cleared everyone out. None of them could remember any faces or names of the guards.

Once the blaze was out, the police sifted through the remains for over an hour and found nothing.

"There's nothing here but ashes and charcoal Sir," Price had commented to Sergeant Toussaint. Per order of Commissioner James Gordon, Chief Patrick O'Hare put Toussaint on point for this one. Gordon trusted her, which is more than he could say for Dustman, and Bullock was on the Tony Falcone case. "What do we tell the Chief?"

"The truth," Toussaint had said simply. "According to the Fire Marshal, this looks like it was deliberate, and whoever set the place to blow wanted it obliterated completely."

Price had speculated maybe it was a drug lab, and Toussaint had indicated that was possible. Internally, she wished the Bat were around.

During that time, and for half an hour longer, Alfred Pennyworth and Richard Grayson had their hands full with a Mister Bruce Wayne; who, despite still clearly suffering from head spins anytime he moved any faster than a slow walk, insisted he was needed out there to investigate. Gotham needed the Batman. Finally, Dick said he would go out. Initially, Bruce started to say he was welcome to join, but then, after nearly fainting, had to grudgingly admit he would be more harm than help in the field.

"At least let me quarterback from the Cave," Bruce had insisted.

"Fine," Dick had agreed.

Alfred remained silent. He didn't like the idea, but knew better than to object. The both of them were incredibly hard headed about this sort of thing, and really it was a blessing they had come to any sort of agreement at all.

Now, Nightwing was at the scene; geared up with an air filter, comm unit, and a live-feed mini camera so he and Bruce could communicate and Bruce could see what he saw on a monitor in the Cave. Given the situation the police found themselves in as a result of Penguin's Class Action suit, he had to wait until the police cleared out. As they were finishing up with securing the crime scene, Nightwing noted the Sergeant, a not unattractive woman, paused and gazed in the direction of the place he had taken cover. For an instant, he could swear she spotted him; but only nodded ever so slightly and turned away without a word, as if merely assessing the scene to ensure everything was done right.

"Don't worry about her," Bruce said in the comm. "She's one of Gordon's."

"If you say so," Nightwing replied. He was genuinely amazed at the amount of ash he found himself wading through; it was like sifting through the aftermath of a volcanic eruption, or like being ankle deep in snow. "I tell you, though," he continued, "I think the cops are right on this. There's nothing here."

"Keep looking." Bruce insisted. As little as he liked to admit it, Dick and Alfred were right; he would be of no use in the field. Even sitting here in the Cave playing quarterback was a chore. He watched as Dick scanned the scene. "Wait," he said.

Dick stopped. "What?" he asked. "What are we looking at?"

"Go back to that pillar for a second." Bruce instructed, "The one that's still standing."

"You mean the foundation?" Dick asked.

"Check it out."

"Why?"

"Just do it, Dick." Bruce demanded; catching the impatience in his tone before it got out of hand. He had to remind himself that Dick was an adult now, and quite competent at this sort of thing. "Please." He added.

"Alright," Dick said with just a hint of resignation. He approached the foundation pillar.

They both saw the flaw in it and asked the other if they saw it simultaneously.

"Can it be moved?" Bruce asked.

"Let me see," Nightwing said back. It slid out easily; a small box, about the size and dimensions of a brick. "Weird," Nightwing said, holding it.

"Why?"

"The pillar is still warm, but the box is actually quite cool." He replied. "I found a safety catch to open it."

"Hold on, Dick," Bruce said. "It may be rigged with something, or be used to trigger something else." He knew that was unlikely, but he didn't want to take any chances. There he was again, trying to protect Robin; forgetting that Dick wasn't Robin anymore for just a second. Still, this was the best course to take. "Bring it back to the Cave for examination."

"Right," Nightwing agreed. It took all he had to keep from responding with a sarcastic remark; that was more Jason's thing. He could get why Jason was like that, but he also understood where Bruce was coming from. When he got all protective like this, it was because he'd already lost so many people he cared about. Rather than argue about it, he packed up the box and headed back to the Cave.

At home, Dr. Jonathan Crane reviewed his notes regarding his experimental toxin. He had been administering it in the form of an ultra-fine mist into the cells of the patients, so that it would be absorbed through the pores of their skin. It was really only a subtle dose; just enough to make them fearful enough to comply with the rules of the Asylum, and be terrified of the notion of ever leaving. For the most part, it seemed to be working. There were a few who were profoundly affected; to the point they refused to leave their cells, and one or two who wanted out more than ever. Those two were easy enough to settle down; they were simply advised that Arkham was the safest place for them to be.

Then there were the three feature inmates: Killer Croc, Edward Nygma, and of course, that dammed Jack Napier.

The results on Croc proved difficult to determine. Because of his unpredictability and capacity for violence, he had to be kept restrained at all times. That made things difficult enough; but very shortly after his re-capture he had become particularly docile. Was this from the toxin, or was he waiting for something? Crane could not be sure. He had to take into account that Croc's hide might be providing a form of protection. Doctor Crane made a note to attempt to administer the toxin either orally or have him breathe it in through an aerosol.

Edward Nygma, more popularly known as the Riddler, was living up to being the enigma his namesake resembled phonetically. In many ways, the toxin would appear to have taken effect, but only in the most subtle of manners. Part of the hope was that the fear he experienced would prompt him to speak on matters clearly, but the exact opposite seemed to be taking place. In fact he rarely spoke at all; and if he did, his word games were becoming consistently more obscure. It could be a defense mechanism, or it could be his mind is so addled the toxin is adding to his obsessive behavior patterns. There was also, of course, the possibility that there was no effect, and that the Riddler was up to something.

Jack Napier, the Joker, the Clown Prince of Crime, was most alarmingly curious of all. Not only did the toxin appear to have no effect at all, he was apparently aware of its presence. He had even gone so far as to blackmail Crane with this knowledge. The easy way around the issue would be to deny everything, and of course point out that even if such a toxin existed, who would believe a lunatic criminal over a renowned psychiatrist? To this argument the Joker simply giggled that menacing laugh of his and countered by saying it wouldn't matter if they (pointing to indicate the outside world) believed him or not. What would matter is if they (making a sweeping gesture to indicate the other inmates) hear it or not. Gleefully he challenged Crane to imagine the pandemonium, the anarchy, the utter chaos the very thought that they were being used as guinea pigs would cause. With that thought, Joker literally shook with barely suppressed laughter. Although Dr. Crane had to admit to himself that that kind of panic would be fascinating to watch, he was not ready for that stage of his experiment yet. Therefore, he was forced to allow that idiot Quinzel to stay on board; at least for now.

The instant the messenger tone beeped on her phone, Harley Quinzel knew that the box she planted at the warehouse was intact and that it was found. That meant that Eddie's design worked perfect. Also, it was a safe bet that the explosion got Batman's attention, and the box was now with him; just like Mr J predicted. Harley leaped and squealed in excitement, and then quickly stifled her squeals; remembering that it wasn't even 3:00 in the morning yet and most people are still in their beds visiting Dreamland.

The place went up and out super fast, and nobody even got so much as a blister from the blaze; just like Mr J promised. She had done everything she was supposed to do just like Mr J and Eddie said to, and everything was turning out perfect. Now that the box was found, it was just a matter of time before it got opened, and that meant it was time to get her butt to Arkham, pronto. The odd hour wouldn't matter; Dr Crane was probably fast asleep at home, and nobody asked any questions about when she was there or why, anyhow.

After a thorough analysis of the box, Bruce was satisfied that it was safe to open and gave Dick a curt nod to go ahead. Dick released the safety catch and the top popped open to reveal an envelope inside; it was fashioned out of green construction paper and had a large purple question mark stenciled upon it. Having recently been in Hub City working with him, Nightwing could not help but to mentally eliminate the Question as the likely suspect behind all this. That meant there was really only one other person to consider.

"Riddler?" he suggested, showing the envelope to Bruce.

"Maybe," Bruce agreed. "Open it."

Nightwing opened the envelope to find a single sheet of paper inside; on it was an elaborate crossword puzzle with a series of complex mathematical equations as clues.

"Well," he said, setting the puzzle down in front of Bruce. "This fits his M.O., anyway."

"Yes, it does."

"I thought he was in Arkham."

"He is," Bruce confirmed, speaking as he usually does when he dons the Bat uniform. "That doesn't mean he couldn't arrange something from inside."

"So what now," Nightwing asked. "Do we play his game, or do we go to Arkham to sweat him?"

After examining the puzzle a moment, Bruce said. "We don't have a choice," he turned back to the computer. "We do both."

2

3:00 am

Commissioner James Gordon and Inspector Harvey Bullock passed by the admittance desk at Arkham Asylum without a word to anyone; flashing their badges to get by the guards, orderlies, staff, and one intern who seemed more than a little out of place at this hour. Gordon made a note of her presence, certain that Harvey had, too. The most notable thing about her was that she just seemed a little too cheerful for anyone to be awake at this hour. On their way to see Nygma, Gordon went through a timeline in his mind:

Three hours ago he was jarred awake from a fitful sleep by the phone. The call was about the warehouse explosion. Thinking it might be about the escalating gangland tension; he benched Dustman and put Toussaint on it. The warehouse had been incinerated; and for over two hours there was nothing. Then, less than half an hour ago, he received a message from :

"Found concealed evidence at warehouse scene. Most likely suspect is Edward Nygma. Trademark clue is likely next target. Motive: unknown."

Gordon then promptly contacted Bullock to pull him off Falcone – who reported the shooter had to be Lawton – and called him in as part of the interrogation team on Nygma. Toussaint was a good cop, but nowhere near ready to deal with someone like the Riddler. Gordon charged her with heading up the hunt for Deadshot. Within minutes of that, Bullock and Gordon were on their way to Arkham; Bullock driving, Gordon on the phone arranging for Nygma to be put in an interview room. Those calls were completed by the time they were across the Arkham Drawbridge.

"I wonder what she's so hyped up about," Bullock commented, watching the intern skip down the adjacent hall they were heading up. "Prob'ly loaded up on those energy drinks or caffeine pills." Cute little thing, though, he thought. "Maybe she's got a couple to spare." He let out a nervous chuckle.

"Not now, Harvey," Gordon said a little too curtly.

"Sorry, Jim," Bullock replied. "It's just this place; it gives me the creeps, y'know?"

James said nothing. If he was going to be honest, he couldn't blame his old partner for that. The place was eerie enough to give anyone the creeps, himself included.

"Hey, this is kinda like old times, ain't it?" Bullock said in a conversational tone. "The only thing missin' is O'Hare."

James stopped, turned, and gave Bullock the look; that look from the old days that said enough was enough, and it was time to get serious. Harvey knew the look all too well and snapped his big mouth shut. The two of them had been friends for far too long for him to take it personally; Jim's ability to focus on what needed doing was part of what got him the nod for the Commissioners' chair.

At the door of the interview room, James Gordon paused before they entered to where the Riddler was waiting, silent and wearing what appeared to be a nervous grin on his face.

"We do this the way we discussed in the car," the Commissioner said. Bullock nodded. The plan was for Bullock to present as muscle, and for Gordon to do the talking.

Dick Grayson growled in frustration.

"Calm down, Dick," Bruce said in the muted tones he normally reserved for when the Batman was talking to allies regarding a case. After he had sent his message to the Commissioner, the two of them got to work on the equations in the crossword puzzle; Bruce on the across clues and Dick on the down. Even with his head still not fully in the game, Bruce finished his part about five minutes earlier. That was not the cause of Dick's frustration. The concept that the puzzle was a numeric code of some sort was not lost on either one of them.

"But none of this makes any sense!" Dick argued. "None of the ciphers we've tried make anything other than a nonsensical mess of letters!" He snapped the paper up from the table they were working on, and paced around the Cave with it. "I almost hate to admit it, but I actually wish that Question were here. He's weird enough to see whatever it is we're missing."

"But he isn't here," Bruce pointed out. "This is up to us." He folded his hands together, tapping the tip of his nose with his fingertips. It really was starting to appear as if Nygma had finally managed to stump him this time. Dick was right; no cipher was proving effective. It wasn't each number or pair of numbers to represent a letter in the order they appear in the alphabet, adding each individual box in each numeric didn't work, no variation or combination to find the letter based on any version of the answers worked in accordance to the algebraic that appeared in each equation proved effective. Nothing seemed to be working. What was Riddler doing with this one?

"Pardon the interruption, sirs," Alfred said, standing at the Cave entrance from the Manor. "I thought you might both appreciate a cup of tea while you work out Mr. Nygma's latest brain teaser."

"Thank you, Alfred," Bruce said, waving his oldest friend in.

Alfred stepped into the Cave, and gently set the tea set he was carrying onto the table. "If I may, sirs, I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps you were over thinking the matter somehow? Perhaps the answer is much simpler than it appears on the surface."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dick asked.

"Only that sometimes, Master Dick," Alfred replied, "the trick to a riddle is distraction. The speaker of the riddle gets you looking at one thing when you should be looking at another."

Bruce looked up as Alfred left, passing Dick as he did so. That was when he saw it; the paper had something typed on the back of the sheet.

"Bring that back over here, Dick," he said.

Dick handed the sheet to Bruce, who studied the puzzle for a second before turning the sheet over to see what was written of the back:

"Look at the forest, not the trees."

Bruce flipped the sheet back over and set it down on the table. With a ballpoint pen he began to quickly circle each of the algebraic letters in each equation, and then he wrote each one down in the order they appeared along the bottom of the sheet.

"I can't believe I missed this!" Bruce exclaimed, lifting the paper so Dick could see it.

Dick read:

"Forestry awareness exhibition Edgegate Shopping Center." He said aloud.

"Go," Bruce said.

Nightwing left, making sure their connections were good. As he was leaving, Bruce sent another message to the Commissioner from to give him the location of the next explosive. He then logged into the com and cam that Dick was equipped with, and leaned back in his chair, thinking.

Something wasn't right about this; the solution was too simple. Alfred had a point about distraction and misdirection, but still this wasn't really the way Nygma did things. He felt like they were both missing something, but couldn't quite grasp what it was.

3

3:30 am

Richard Gavin paid the cab driver and hustled to the storage room that doubled as an office at Edgegate Shopping Center, wondering how he allowed himself to get roped into picking up the extra hours. He unlocked the door, let himself in, and clutched the Uni-Phone to check into the shift that he agreed to pick up for some insane reason that he could no longer remember; though it might come back to him when he saw the results on his paystub. By the time he got himself geared up and had the office door locked, he could already hear the call of Gotham's finest in the distance; gradually getting closer. They're probably on high alert after that warehouse thing, he reasoned.

Rounding the corner of the south building of the complex, he was nearly knocked over as a motorcycle zoomed past him and then came to a screeching halt along the curb; in a spot clearly marked as a no parking zone. Gavin picked up his pace a little to step up and tell the rider off, but the rider actually came to him.

"The Forestry Exhibit," the rider demanded. "Where is it?"

"The North Lot, in front of Oliver's," Gavin replied. "But..."

The rider turned and ran towards the north lot before Gavin could finish, warning him to stay back as he left. Richard ran after him, and caught up to find him at the exhibition; sweeping the grounds with a flashlight, as if he was looking for something. The sirens were really close now.

At Arkham, Harley Quinzel sat in Dr. Crane's office chair, pushing herself back and forth across the room on its wheels as she observed several of the monitors he had set to watch specific rooms. Once she had regained her equilibrium from spinning the chair until it was the room that was spinning and not her and after she finally found a setting of the chair she liked, she got down to the business of watching and waiting. Waiting mainly for her beeper to let her know where Bat-boy was in finding the surprises; but also for Eddie to give the signal for the big surprise. Watching a couple of things; of course there was Mr. J, standing in his room all handsome and suave in front of his specialized transparent door. Then there was that Crocodile Man, holding still just like he was told to until the time was right. Finally there was Eddie in the interview room with Gordon and his goon. Eddie was doing a good job stalling.

The Police had arrived at Edgegate, and began to set up a perimeter. Nightwing noted this, and that SWAT was setting up to come in with explosive handling gear. There was that, and also the maintenance kid was in the exhibit site.

"There's a lot of ground to cover here...Batman..." he said to comm, almost using Bruce's real name, "and not a lot of time if we take Penguin's Class Action into account." He turned to the kid, "I thought I told you to clear out of here! There's a bomb!"

The kid started to back away.

Seeing that Gavin was moving away from the exhibit, Bruce watched what Dick was scanning through thee monitors in the Cave. He quickly began to deduce the most likely place for the bomb to be; not the tree display, they were to look at the forest and not the trees. Not sprinkler system, the source was too far removed to be of any significance. The brochure display was empty at the moment, so if it was there it would be immediately visible. It had to be somewhere where it would do significant damage yet be concealed...

At Arkham, the Joker stood patiently at the transparent door of his cage; waiting for the moment of truth. Gordon and his goon were in place; trying to get answers from Nygma, that meant the first part of his prank went through. It also meant that he got the attention of Bat-breath and it certainly appeared that Harley had done her part to him nicely distracted until it was time for his punch line. He let out a stifled giggle of anticipation.

Killer Croc heard the two Pigs squealing as they passed by; Gordon and Bullock by the smell of them. Gordon with too much aftershave and Bullock reeked of chilidogs. If the little blonde monkey was telling the truth, the real signal would be coming soon. Then he would be free, and this time he would make no mistakes to get himself locked in here again.

Edward Nygma maintained his smile and kept himself from blinking despite the stinging sweat dripping into them from his brow. Why he had been feeling so nervous, so utterly terrified, nearly to the point of paralysis of late was a mystery to even him. _Riddle me this..._

"I can see you're quite nervous about something, Edward," Commissioner Gordon said, "like something is weighing on you. Tell us what it is, and we'll let you get back to your cell, safe and sound."

Riddler said nothing.

"Is it the bombs? Where are they, Edward?" Gordon asked. "It's not like you to put people in immediate danger; certainly not without allowing us the chance to do something about it. Please, Edward, hit us with one of your mind teasers. I'm ready."

Riddler glanced at Gordon, then at Bullock, and then shot a quick glance at the camera hidden behind the mirror. _Not yet, _he thought, _but soon, very soon..._

"Start with the cashier booth at the centre of the exhibit," Nightwing heard Bruce suggest over the comm.

Without a word, he dashed to the booth to find it locked. He reared up and kicked the door open; it gave way without much effort at all. Inside there was a desk with a strong box, left open and emptied, and a laptop computer, folded closed but left on. At the desk was a chair, and to left of the chair a cabinet. Pushing the chair aside, Nightwing tried the cabinet; it was locked. He gave it a solid yank and easily broke the lock. Not having time to think about how lax the security system was here, he peered inside the cabinet and saw a green bow with a purple question mark stenciled on it.

"I think I found it." He said.

"I see it," Bruce replied. "Are there any visible wires on the exterior?"

Nightwing inspected the box. "No." He answered.

"Try to remove the casing," Bruce instructed. "Be careful."

Once again, Dick found himself biting his tongue to avoid snapping off a Toddist remark as he complied. The top of the box turned out to be a farce; he merely had to lift it off and toss it aside to see the device it contained.

"Holy basic set up, Batman!" he exclaimed. The words shot out of his mouth before he realized it. The truth was that it was a basic set up; any amateur could have rigged this. The wiring color scheme was different, but the principal was just about the simplest explosive device he had ever seen. Almost by reflex, he grabbed a pair of wire snips from his belt.

"Be careful, Dick!" Bruce warned. "It could be a trick. Things are almost never as simple as they seem with the Riddler." That was true; as the Batman had learned from years of experience. Something about this whole affair was not sitting right with him. It was almost as if Nygma wanted this bomb found and disarmed. The question to ask was why. Maybe that was the real riddle here.

"There's a timer display, but nothing on it," Dick announced almost argumentatively. "We have no idea how much time we have, I don't see much choice."

Bruce gritted his teeth as watched Dick study the wiring configuration, deciding which wire to cut first. Finally he cut the green one first, which caused the timer to light up to reveal there was four minutes and twenty-two seconds remaining. Within two seconds, he cut the purple wire next.

The timer stopped.

Harley's beeper beeped. The bomb had been disarmed. Harley let out a sigh of relief at that; this one could have hurt a lot of people if Bat-brain messed up, even this early in the morning. She was even willing to bet that Mr J would have been upset if it went off and blew the Bat into a zillion pieces. She should know; she was the only one who really understood him. Mr J would want to be up close and personal when the Bat bought the farm; he might even keep him alive. It was Harley's belief that Mr J subconsciously needed the Bat to be his counterweight in life; something to balance out the universe and keep the world functional. Mr J needed an enemy in order to be Mr J. Or maybe it was Batman that needed Mr J. Then again, maybe they needed each other.

Harley gave her head a shake. No time for such deep thoughts now. She had a job to do. Grabbing the Uni -phone one of Eddies' goons on the outside gave her, she flipped it to the mail page where she selected the drafts section. Once she found the one she was looking for – it had all the domains it was supposed to go already set up- she hit send. Once that was done, she set the Uni-phone down and returned to the main control panel in Dr. Crane's office. There, she went eenie-meanie-miney- Moe until her pointer finger landed on a switch meant to unlock all the cell room doors.

"I wonder what this does?" she cackled as she flipped the switch.

4

3:40 am

The _click _of the lock for his door was so soft even Killer Croc could barely hear it. It was almost time to make his move.

"When the lights go out," the blonde monkey had said, "that's when the party starts." She told him this as she was cutting tiny slits into the restraints of his jacket and filing one of the links in his shackles. Since the Bat and that girl-pig got the drop on him a few months back, the keeper- monkeys put him in new and improved restraints; his teeth and his jaws couldn't tear through them. With the alterations provided by the blonde monkey, though, he would have no problem just muscling his way out.

"Why are you doing this for me?" he asked. This was the second time she helped him.

"Don't get any ideas about you and me, Crocodile breath," she had replied. "All of this is for Mr J."

Croc snorted a light laugh. She had a thing for the clown. _Takes all kinds... _he supposed.

Standing at his door, Joker was listening intently for his cue. Just as he imagined the reptile did, he heard the soft _click _of the door unlocking. Perhaps some of the other inmates heard it, perhaps not. It was also possible, even likely, that many of them would be cringing in their beds in horror because of the toxin that Crane was dousing them all in. None of that really mattered any more.

"Good girl, Harley," he giggled as he went to his bunk, reached under the mattress and produced a syringe which he palmed before gently sliding his door open.

At Edgegate, the SWAT goon named Alvarez shoved Richard Gavin aside just as his Uni-phone whistled at him to indicate he had an incoming message. It struck him as odd, especially since it appeared as if the detective that grilled him a few months back got a message at the exact same time, and Nightwing paused to look at the laptop in the booth.

"What the hell?" he heard the detective say as he went to check the message.

"Hold up, Alvarez!" Nightwing heard Dustman shout as both Knox and Vale pushed their way onto the scene. Choosing to ignore them, Nightwing flipped the laptop open to find it set to read the email that it just indicated was waiting.

It read:

What was a mystery  
is now a gift.  
What is a gift  
is soon history.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away and always will.  
Ever marching forward, both long and short  
it slips away until it stands still.

"Time," Bruce said to him in the comm.

Of course that was it. It played on the idea that today is a gift, so we call it the present; but what did it mean?

"...Downtown!" he heard someone in the crowd shout. Nightwing looked up to locate the source of the shout and found it; it was the kid, who was jumping up and down like he had an uncontrollable urge to urinate. He heard Bruce mutter the name 'Gavin' as he stepped out of the booth and waved the kid over. The kid came up to him.

"Your name's Gavin, right?" Nightwing asked.

"Yeah," the kid replied, a little stunned.

"Okay, good." Nightwing nodded. "What did you just say back there?"

The kid held up his phone to show the same poem on the laptop. "It's the old clock tower, downtown. It was built, like, a century ago as a gift from someplace, and it stopped something like ten years ago. City council keeps it up as an historical landmark. Because it's stopped, it stands still."

Nightwing looked at Gavin skeptically.

"It fits," Bruce said into the comm. "It's really direct, but that seems to be the game Riddler is playing tonight." As Dick fled the scene to hurry to the old clock tower, Bruce still felt uncomfortable with how easy all of this was. True, Nygma was probably limited in what he could do, but there was usually a method to his schemes; this only barely fit the pattern. He began to run it down:

First: an explosion without warning. It was set to go up and burn itself out with minimal difficulty. Obviously meant to get his attention and nothing else, really, other than introduce the first clue.

Second: a puzzle that is really a diversion from the actual solution. Was that to buy time, or is the simplicity part of what he's doing? Why the distraction of the crossword? Why not just the proverb on the back of the sheet?

Third: a remarkably simple explosive device. So simple in fact, that any punk with a copy of that underground rag _Mayhem for Morons _could have put it together. It was almost as if it was supposed to get disarmed. The question is why? Is this to get them to an end game? Is the tower the final piece? That was possible; the carnage of that going up right downtown would be catastrophic even in the early morning. The problem with that theory was that such outright terrorism was unusual for Nygma. Had he gone even deeper into his madness?

Whistling a familiar circus tune, Joker walked nonchalantly along until he got to Dr. Crane's office door. The good Doctor had override controls over the entire facility, which of course was a completely insane idea on his part; after all what would happen if one of his more unstable patients were to happen to gain access to the room? Joker decided that he should knock on the door and check on the good doctor, just to make sure the place was safe. He chuckled lightly as he opened the door just a crack to take a little peek.

"Hello?" he called out in quiet sing-song voice. "Is everything all right in here?"

The door flew open and the Joker found himself in a bear hug so tight he actually thought for a moment that at least one of his ribs might crack under the pressure. It wasn't until he found himself lip-locked that he realized he had instinctively gripped Harley's waist the second she jumped him, wrapping her legs around him. After a quick round of tonsil hockey, Harley broke off the kiss with a loud smack.

"Easy, my harlequin!" he said, straining to breathe. "Daddy's glad to see you too, but he needs some air right now!"

Apologizing sheepishly, Harley dropped to her feet and skipped her way back to where all the controls were and began to show him how everything was working out just like how he and Riddler said it would; even Killer Croc was playing along. He had gotten himself loose of his bindings and was waiting as calm as a clam.

By the time Dick had gotten to the tower, it was getting close to 4:00 in the morning. Anticipating the possibility of guards at the tower or obstacles along the way, Bruce had Dick take a route that was less direct than he would have liked, but effective for concealing his movements. He had also sent Gordon another message courtesy of D. Knight to alert him of the clock tower; it was probably unnecessary, as it appeared as if Lt. Dustman had sent his entire team off to the tower as well. If the tower was Riddlers' end game, then there was no way he had enough men at his disposal to avoid being overwhelmed by this force. While monitoring Nightwings' moves, Bruce ran an historical check on the old clock tower and cross referenced it with Nygma's criminal record. He found nothing to suggest any motive. _What is he doing? _

"We know about the clock tower, Nygma."

Edward Nygma shifted in his seat; it was obvious to Jim that that piece of information was significant. He also noted an ever so slight change in the expression Riddler wore on his face. Gordon expected to see some kind of agitation, but that wasn't what he saw at all; he saw relief.

"Other than what looks like the entire Gotham police force and a media circus, I don't see anyone here," Nightwing said into the comm as he observed the scene from atop the new clock tower, which was directly across the street from the old one. The old clock tower was indeed standing still at four twenty.

"Batman," Nightwing said as a thought occurred to him, "how many of the equations in the first puzzle contained the digits 4, 2, and 0 in that order?"

A brief pause as Bruce checked. "All of them," he replied.

"The timer at the exhibit stopped at four minutes and twenty seconds, and the old tower is stopped at twenty minutes past four. I bet the next bomb is set to go off then."

"That's likely," Bruce confirmed. "Chances are it is set to release some kind of chemical agent, too."

For a second, Nightwing was about to question how he came to that, then remembered the police code for drug related offence. In any case, he had about twenty minutes to find and deactivate the bomb. Since it looked like the Riddler was slipping up a lot this time, he figured the night was just about over.

As Dick swung across the street and into the old tower, Bruce still felt like he was missing something. With the Riddler, there was always another layer beneath the apparent one; always.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees. _

There was no way this caper of his was this simple. There had to be more to it.  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

He had to know that a series of bombs would attract this kind of attention. Was this all so he could stay relevant? Was that the motive?  
_Look at the forest, not the trees._

_"Sometimes, the trick to a riddle is distraction..."  
Look at the forest, not the trees. _

"Oh, no," Bruce muttered.

"What?" Dick asked.

"Dick, I need you to listen very carefully." Bruce replied. "I'm going to get word to Commissioner Gordon to send as many units as possible to Arkham. You find that bomb and deactivate it. Everything tonight has been a diversion. Riddler is planning an escape."

5

4:00 am

_To GPD:  
From  
Re: Bombing motives_

_Bombs in City are easy to find and disarm. They are clearly intended as a diversion from real plan to escape Arkham. All available unit order to asylum is advised. Include a bomb squad. The Clock Tower is being handled. _

Commissioner James Gordon blinked just once when he read the message. When his beeper went off to indicate an incoming message, he stepped out of the interview room, leaving Nygma with Bullock. Immediately after, he switched his new fangled fancy phone gizmo to the actual phone function and dialled HQ. It was easier for him to just dial than to try and remember the speed code.

"O'Hare."

"Patrick," Gordon greeted, barely louder than a whisper. "It's me."

"Commissioner," the Chief greeted back just a little too cheerfully. "Have you had any luck with Nygma?"

"Never mind that, Patrick," Gordon replied. "I have learned from a very reliable source that his endgame is here at Arkham. I need you to send all available units and SWAT with an explosives kit here right now."

"But what about the Tower, sir?" the chief asked.

"My source assures me the Tower is being handled."

"By source, do you mean..."

"If you don't ask, Patrick," Gordon cut him off. He knew he would not have to finish the statement; Patrick O'Hare would know that he meant that by not being asked, he wouldn't have to lie. The Batman was still wanted by Police, after all, thanks to that sleazy excuse of a man Cobblepot.

"Right, sir," O'Hare replied without question or any further probing the matter. That was good. If it got out that the Police were getting aid from a fugitive, it would set everything back to where it was before; especially if the likes of Cobblepot and Dustman had a chance to spin it right.

James Gordon hung up and headed back to the interview room.

"You know, Bullock," they heard Gordon say in the speakers in Dr. Cranes' office; "I really don't think he's going to talk."

"Ummm, I think this is starting to go a teensy bit south on us, Mr J." Harley said with nervous anticipation.

"Uh-oh," Joker commented back; not really paying her much mind.

"Tell me about it," Harley said, not even noticing Jokers' apparent indifference. "Gordon and that ball of bacon-fat are taking Eddie back to his cell right now."

"What?"

The Joker turned to see that he and Harley were looking at two different things; while she was watching the interview inside, which was as she pointed out clearly at an end, he was looking at a monitor which showed a number of wig-wag police lights coming up the bridge towards Arkham. His madman's green eyes darted along all of the monitors to see that one by one several of the patients were starting to brave their way out of their recently opened cell doors and wander tentatively up and down the hallways. At the same time, Gordon, Bullock, and the asylum personnel were attempting to guide them back into their cells. Desperately, he eyed the controls.

"Do any of these control the bridge, dear?" he asked.

Harley and her nearly perfect memory came through for him. "That switch right there, puddin'" she pointed to a switch, currently set to down.

"Thank you," he said as he began to laugh; first lightly and gradually working his way to near hysterics as he flipped the switch into the up position.

If it weren't for Bruce's deduction, Nightwing would have been curious as to why none of the Riddlers' thugs were anywhere in the building. As it was, despite having to go exclusively on foot once he was inside, he had no trouble getting to the most logical pressure point in the structure to place an explosive. Sure enough, there it was; a green box with a purple question mark stencilled on it. This time it was a box with a hinged lid on it. On the lid was a small sticker with four words printed on it:

WHAT DAY IS IT?

"What's this," Dick asked, "another riddle?"

"It must be," Bruce replied, "a clue about the bomb itself this time or a clue that will tell us his endgame."

"We already know his endgame," Dick shot back; almost hating himself for once again sounding too much like Jason. "We don't have time to play his little games." He started to open the box...

"Riddle me this;" Nygma said just as his escorts were about to shove him into his cell, "What day is it?"

Leading the pack, Alvarez and Brian Dustman were nearing the half way marker on the drawbridge as it began to rise...

"Wait, Dick! Don't open it yet!" Nightwing heard Bruce shout into the comm unit as he opened the box. His warning came about a heartbeat too late; before anything could be done, Dick Grayson found himself with a face full of pie. It was Raspberry cream pie, to be exact. This was in conjunction with a maniacal laughter they both knew all too well...

Before Brian could say anything, Alvarez slammed the accelerator to the floor, hoping to gain enough speed to jump the bridge. Looking straight ahead, he completely ignored the colorful commentary coming from the passenger seat as the cars behind him shrank in the rear-view mirror; sliding backwards down the grade of the bridge...

"What are you...?" Commissioner Gordon started to ask.

"April Fool!" a woman's voice called out in a singsong cheer over the PA system, followed by a pair of laughing voices; one the woman's, the other a man's.

Then the lights flickered, as if due to a power surge.

Then there was a dull thud from somewhere in the bowels of the asylum, followed by what felt like a small earthquake.

And then everything went out.

6

4:20 am

The lights were out.

According to the blonde monkey, it was time. Judging from the confusion just outside his door, Killer Croc figured he could add just the right kind of mayhem to really make it a party...

Down the hall, a door burst open and Killer Croc leaped out, growling and snarling. Commissioner Gordon half turned away from Riddler to see Croc grab an orderly and toss him in his direction. That was all Nygma needed to make a move of his own. With unexpected agility, Riddler spun and planted his knee firmly in Gordon's crotch. The impact and the dull, overwhelming ache that followed crumpled the Commissioner to the floor. As he collapsed breathlessly, Riddler snatched his sidearm from the holster and shot Bullock in the leg before the grizzled old vet could respond. The thunderous crack of the pistol and Bullocks howl as his kneecap blew out echoed through the hall, adding to the pandemonium, allowing Riddler to dash away towards a staircase nearby...

"Wahoo-hoo-ha-ha-ha..." Joker laughed. "Well done, Harley my dear, well done!" He was genuinely pleased with her work; the EMP was perfectly placed. This little girl had some real potential to be some real fun.

"You really think so, Puddin'?"

The Joker took her hand gently in his and began to lead her out of the office. "Oh, absolutely, my dear," he reassured her. The lack of self esteem was just about the only thing working against her. She was perfect for his purposes. "But now we really have to be moving."

"Whatever you say, Mr. J," Harley smiled and squealed like a schoolgirl as her clown prince led her out of the office and into the chaos outside. Just before she hit the detonator, she watched the cop cars slide back down the bridge; all except one which tried to floor it and make a jump. She knew she should be shocked and appalled at what her Puddin had done. Those cops could be hurt or dead right now. Thing was, she didn't feel at all bad for them. They were coming to try to stop them, and their jobs demanded that they risk their lives every single day; especially in a town like Gotham. As far as she was concerned, they were fair game...

Ramon Alvarez and Brian Dustman had barely cleared the gap in the bridge, just about to touch down on the other side when everything went dark and silent; the lights in the asylum, the gears raising the bridge, their radio, the wig-wags, everything just went dead. Just before that, Alvarez was sure he felt something like a shockwave. An EMP; it had to be. The pulse blast was just distracting enough to make their landing rough. The downhill grade caught him off guard and the car spun out, crashing sideways into the point where the bridge split from the road...

"Dick?" Bruce called into the comm. "Are you there? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Nightwing said back, still a little stunned at getting pie in the face for all his trouble tonight. He wiped as much as he could off with the back of his hand. "That laugh track..."

"The Joker," Bruce finished for him. "With him in the picture, this has gone from bad to worse."

"I have to get to Arkham."

"Come back to the Cave first," Bruce ordered, sounding more like Batman by the second. "I want to do a toxicology test on you. There's a good chance you've been drugged." For a brief moment, Dick wondered if Bruce was even aware of how his tone had changed.

"With the Joker in this little game, there's no time for that," Nightwing argued. "I'm going straight to Arkham; we'll just have to risk it." Before Bruce could anything else, Dick disconnected the comm. He left the visual up as he began to rappel down the tower towards the bike...

_Tick-Toc! _Riddler reminded himself as gracefully weaved his way through the pandemonium around him, making his way towards the rooms where the patients' possessions were being kept. It didn't worry him that he was relying on what the intern Quinzel had told him about its whereabouts. She was actually much brighter than most people realized, and had a remarkably good memory; not eidetic like his own, but as close as one can get to it, he imagined. Still, time was short, and already the guards and the orderlies were making progress in regaining control over several of the more timid patients. Of course, with Croc running around and bashing everything in sight, the chaos levels were indeed being kept up, much to the Clown's delight, Nygma was sure. That was another element to consider; with Joker in the game, there was no telling what sort of monkey wrench was going to end up in the works. That kind of unpredictability and utter lack of fair play was what made Joker dangerous; both to everyone around him and to himself Riddler assessed. Lastly, there was Gordon and Harvey to think about. Well, Gordon, anyway. His kick wouldn't keep him down long, and the Commissioner was bound to want his firearm back. As for the Batman, Nygma was certain the 'explosives' throughout Gotham would keep him occupied; unless he solved the riddles quickly enough. That seemed unlikely, given what the news and the rumors said about Croc doing a number on him during his previous escape and the Penguins' litigation leaving the Bat basically hamstrung.

As little as he liked to admit it, Riddler had to give it up for that short, pudgy snow bird. His little ploy worked out very nicely for him. Once out, he might have to contact Cobblepot...

"Never mind me, rookie!" Bullock barked at Gordon while medical staff attended to him blown out knee. "Go get that son of a bitch!"

For a minute, James Gordon was stunned; hearing Harvey talk to him like that, as if they were back in the days when Gordon was a rookie detective, had the effect of taking him back to that time and place. Bullock was taking out his pistol and holding out for him to take, and Gordon snapped out of his mini trance to take it...

The cruiser was dead, of course. Never mind the fact it was on its side and half wrapped around a post; the pulse from EMP would have fried it anyway. Checking the scenario, Alvarez started with Dustman, who was alive, but out like a light on the pavement. He had no life threatening injuries, and was clear of the car. The old drawbridge from the mainland to Arkham Island was stuck in a part way up position. He could barely hear his team trying to regroup on the other side. From his side of the bridge, it sounded like a riot in the asylum...

When he arrived at the bridge to Arkham Island, Nightwing paused long enough to turn the comm unit back on and assess the situation before him. He saw police cruisers piled up on one end of the bridge, and cops, mostly SWAT, regrouping themselves and attempting to discern just what happened. The Bridge was partly drawn. None of the cars seemed to be in any condition to operate. None of the SWAT or anybody was radioing in or anything. They were also too preoccupied to even notice his presence.

"What gives," he asked into the comm.

"Total blackout," Bruce replied, "most likely a small EMP originating on the island. You really should come back and get a tox test."

"With Arkham blacked out?" Nightwing countered. "You have got to be kidding." As if that settled the matter, Nightwing gunned the engine, retreated a distance, and sped towards the ramp of the bridge...

Originally, the idea was to steal one of the cars from the parking lot and race across the bridge, where he and Harley would ditch the car in favor of one that was waiting for them on the other side. Until the boys in blue showed up, that was the idea. With the power knocked out by the EMP, the bridge would be all but impossible to lift, so there would be no way to stop them. Then Gotham's lamest had to come along and ruin the party; forcing him to raise the bridge to keep them out. The Joker surprised himself in that he was actually disappointed that the Bat hadn't shown up. Maybe the Penguin really did clip the Bat's wings, after all. Should he be thanked, or snuffed?

Oh well, when uninvited guests come and crash the party, you improvise, and hope the fun doesn't die. Well, to the Joker, the party got even more entertaining. Besides, there was always another way off the island. The Riddler had one of his henchmen work his way onto the staff, and leave a dingy on the other end of the asylum, for example; and since Nygma would not be able to leave without his cane, Joker decided it was best that the Riddler be voted to stay on the island. It was a fitting penalty for being so impractical. Even better; Croc was bashing a clear path ahead of them as he lead Harley by the hand through the carnage left in Killer Croc's wake...

Nightwing made the jump and touched down safely on the other side of the bridge. He came to a halt just a few feet away from a wrecked car; SWAT issue, by the look of it. Just outside, an officer in hard shell armor was attending to a detective.

"That's Ramon Alvarez and Brian Dustman," Bruce announced in the comm. "I don't know about Alvarez, but Dustman is as dirty as they come. I'm sure he's either on Penguin's payroll, or Mask's."

"Maybe he's playing both ends," Nightwing commented quietly as he dismounted.

"Maybe," Bruce said.

"That's a dangerous game."

"It is; high risk, high reward potential."

Alvarez, the SWAT man, looked up and saw him coming. His body language showed that he had no intention of protesting the presence of a masked vigilante on the scene; it was likely he reasoned that they needed all the bodies they could get.

"It looks like a botched escape attempt," Alvarez said. "Something in the Riddlers' plan backfired."

Nightwing shook his head. "No. This is part of it. Nygma and Joker are in this together. Best guess is they plan to escape in the chaos."

"The Joker's in on this? Oh, for..." Alvarez did a quick check on Dustman, who was regaining consciousness. "You're alright, sir," Alvarez said to the corrupt detective. "Just sit tight, I'll send a medic to you." Then Alvarez glanced at Nightwing. "I'll go for Riddler, you take the clown!" He shouted before taking off towards the entrance...

_There it is! _Edward Nygma cackled with glee when he finally found his cane amongst the other rubbish in the store room for inmate belongings. As the noise and clamor was dying down, he reasoned it was not a moment too soon. It would appear that either Croc was clear, or he was subdued. Not that it much mattered anymore; all that mattered now was that he had a boat to catch.

Riddler turned to exit the room when he heard footsteps approaching...

James Gordon could hear the commotion upstairs was very nearly settled. That was good; it meant that the inmates were nearly back under control, and all effort could be focused on subduing Killer Croc, recapturing Napier, and tracking down Nygma. Gordon knew he came this way; likely to get that stupid cane of his. That meant he was heading for locker room B. James was there when it was placed in the room, so he knew the way.

When he got there, the door was open. This was an older wing of the Asylum, so the locks weren't electric. Obviously Nygma had a key of some sort. The question was, was he still in there, or had he left already? Only one way to find out...

The Bird-Kid got ahead of him when Alvarez stopped to grab a medic and direct her to where Brian was laid out. Deciding it didn't really matter, he pressed on until he found another medic attending to Harvey Bullock, who was apparently shot in the knee. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving guy, Alvarez reasoned out. He should have got with the Program when he had the chance.

"Harvey," Alvarez said. "Which way...?"

"The Bird-Kid went that way," Bullock cut him off, groaning in pain. "He was talking to himself, or wearing some kind of wire. Gordon went after Nygma that way." He pointed away from the strewn out bodies.

The Bird-Kid's on comm, Alvarez realized. The Bat is watching everything from his Cave, wherever that is. Without another word, Ramon Alvarez went after Gordon and the Riddler...

Once outside, Killer Croc paused to sniff the air. Sure, it was fresh compared to the Monkey House, but something still lingered; a goat stink mixed with that junk-food carnival smell. There was only one thing in the world with a stink like that. He turned around and sure enough, right on his tail was the Clown; but he had the blonde Monkey with him. Was she a hostage? No, she was cooperating like a school girl following a crush.

"What do you want, clown?"

"Why, nothing at all!" the Clown replied, wearing that aggravating, ever-present grin. "Simply to say thank you for clearing a path for us; I promised Harley here a romantic cruise right after our little getaway, and I think it's high time we hit the high seas." The Clown bowed, snickering like a hyena as he pointed the blonde Monkey towards a dingy.

Croc turned away as the pair got the dingy ready. He could hear them climbing inside, ready to go when something caught his attention in the air...

"The Bird-Kid," Croc grumbled. And then he was gone.

Harley couldn't help but gasp when Nightwing swung in from thin air, landing less than ten feet away. Mr. J was, of all things, laughing with what sounded like glee.

"Well," Mr. J exclaimed. "I guess I should be careful what I wish for, eh? I was hoping for the Bat, but I suppose the original Boy-Blunder will do." He laughed, as if to a joke only he understood. Harley got it; she just didn't think it was very funny. Mr. J thought he needed the Bat to make him complete, and Nightwing was the next best thing. She would have to do something about that, if they got out of this.

"It's over, Joker," Nightwing declared, sounding more like that no good Bat than Harley expected.

What happened next was so quick that it made Harley's head spin a little. Mr. J stopped laughing, grabbed her from behind around the neck and from his sleeve produced a dripping syringe, which he held with the point just barely touching the skin behind her eye. Nightwing had one of those throwy-thingies out and ready to fly, but hesitated. For a fraction of a second Harley could swear she saw him flinch to one side; like something was in his ear.

"Back off, Boy-Blunder," Mr. J snarled. "Or I swear to God, and hope you die, I'll stick this needle in her eye!" He began to titter with joyful laughter. Harley couldn't believe this was happening; her puddin' was going to kill her! Unless this was a bluff, betting that the Junior Bat wouldn't risk her life. That must be it! Suppressing her urge to laugh with puddin', she did her best to play along and act afraid for her life...

_Just a little closer, Commissioner... _Edward Nygma had ducked deeper into the room to lure James Gordon in. The former detective remembered to clear the passage before entering, as Riddler knew he would. The Commissioner was still careless, though; he didn't wait for back up. Just like Riddler anticipated he might do. He could see Gordon, but Gordon couldn't see him. He set the gun down and raised his cane overhead as Gordon carefully inched his way through the dark, ever closer to where Riddler was hiding. Nygma waited until Gordon was within striking distance before hitting him in the base of the skull with the cane, knocking him out and dropping him to the cold linoleum at their feet.

He took a single step forward to make a break for the dingy his man left waiting for him, and stopped cold. Peering over his shoulder, he saw the Commissioner's pistol where he left it. He stepped back, picked up the gun, and aimed it at James Gordon's head. He had yet to kill anyone, but this was too much to pass up; a chance to be known as the man who killed Commissioner Gordon. Even better, it was a chance to kill him with his own gun. _Riddle me this; what's bigger than that? _

"Drop it, Nygma!"

Edward Nygma glanced up with a start. Right there, blocking the doorway was a man as big as a house in full SWAT gear. He had a weapon trained on him. In a panic, Riddler raised the gun his hand towards the SWAT man, who fired a single shot which caught the Riddler in the shoulder and spun him to the floor in shock and dismay. A second later, the SWAT man, Alvarez, according to his nameplate, had him covered as he shouted for help. A moment later, a prison guard was in the room with a medic to assist.

"So what's it going to be, junior?" Bruce could hear the Joker taunting through the comm. He had an intern hostage, holding a needle to her eye. Experience had taught him, the hard way that the Joker wasn't bluffing; he'd plunge that syringe and its contents into that poor girl if Dick gave him a reason to. Chances were good he'd do it anyway, though.

"Can you tag him?" Bruce asked.

"Yes," Dick replied under his breath.

"Then take the shot." Bruce determined that if Dick said he could, then he could. There was no need to question that.

Without warning, the view from Dick's micro-cam shifted sideways; Bruce saw the Joker zip out of sight and could hear him laughing shrilly as Dick was suddenly submerged in the river and the screen filled with a maw of teeth before the cam shorted out.

Cackling, the Joker moved the syringe away from Harley's eye and shoved her a little too roughly towards the small engine mounted on the dingy as he watched the spot where Croc took the original Boy-Blunder under water.

"Start the engine, Hare," he ordered between cackles.

"Sure thing, Mr. J," Harley replied.

It took her a few tries, but the engine finally did roar into life and they began to move away from the island just as a mess of blood and viscera bubbled to the surface of the water. There was no sign of either the Bird-Boy or Croc.

Harley guided the boat to the far side of the river; outside of the City limits, where a third car was waiting for them. Joker stepped off the dingy and helped Harley off.

"Uh, Mr. J," Harley asked, "You weren't really gonna stick that needle in my eye, were ya?" She managed a weak, apprehensive smile.

The Joker took her in his arms gently and held her close to him. "Of course not, my dear," he said reassuringly. He let her go, and peered into her eyes. "If I did that, then you wouldn't see it happening." He laughed maniacally as he stuck the needle into her shoulder, compressed the plunger, and shoved her to the ground like an unwanted toy. The shocked look frozen on her face as her eyes took on that dull cow glaze was too much for him to him bear and he broke into hysterics as he made his way to the car waiting for him.

Killer Croc gasped for air once he came to the surface at the edge of the swamp. Wasting no time, he moved deeper into the murk and mire which he intended to make his new home. With the taste of the Bird-Kid still in his mouth, he had no doubt that it was only a matter of time before the Bat came looking for him, so he had to make sure he knew the terrain to ensure he had the advantage. Hopefully the Clown would get up to something big enough to buy him some time.

EPILOGUE:

Dawn:

The sun began to rise, highlighting the Gotham City skyline as its rays caressed the buildings and storefronts that dotted the coastline. The warmth of the rays first felt like fingertips, then hands gently nudging her awake. Harleen Quinzel blinked and shuddered slightly, attempting in vain to regain focus in the big light blur that enveloped her. The best she could manage to make out was vaguely human-like shapes standing, and then crouching around her.

Are they angles? She wondered.

"Is she alive?" One of them asked.

"Yes," the other said. "She's alive; barely."

"Then get her into the van," the first one ordered. "We have to get her to the plant witch. Rhas-_san_ wants her alive, and would rather not risk putting her in his Pit."

_"Hai, Akio-San," _the second one said as she picked her up gently. It occurred to Harley the first one was a man. The woman took her into a dark place; the van, and set her down on something soft and smooth.

"Drive," another woman said in the darkness, and then the van zoomed away to somewhere. "You're going to be fine, Harlequin," the new woman said. Harley was sure she knew that voice. "Ivy will restore your health, and soon enough you will be ready."

Harley tried to speak, but her throat was too dry. As she began to doze back off, she figured out who the new woman-angle was; it was her bff Talia.

Noon:

Killer Croc was in the wind. That seemed strange, since he still had a lot of scores to settle, but it wasn't particularly alarming to Oswald Cobblepot. It could be that his reptilian brain has finally taken over completely and he couldn't remember. Not only that, but last time he checked, the Crocodile and the Penguin were on reasonable terms – or at least as reasonable as one could expect.

What concerned him was the clown. With the Joker on the loose, it was only a matter of time before Gotham spiralled into chaos; and that was bad for business. In his younger years, Oswald learned a valuable lesson from the Falcone patriarch back then; you can't have organized crime without law and order. The worst part of it was that you never could tell what the clown was up to, nor could you ever really make any predictions. All that could be done now wait and do whatever was in your power to mitigate the damage. If ever there was a good use for the Bat...

Nothing but bone, blood, and viscera was found along the banks of Arkham Island where Killer Croc blindsided Dick. Since Dick had not come back, Bruce knew the worst had happened. Bruce Wayne glanced over at his cape and cowl and felt a dark and cold fury building inside of him; one he had felt like since that thug shot and killed his parents. This was even worse than when the Joker killed Jason; before Rhas Al Ghul put him into the Lazarus Pit. That wouldn't work this time; there was nothing left. The criminals of this city took his parents, and now they took his son. Bruce stood up and walked slowly out of the Cave and into Wayne Manor. If he was going to be any good to anybody, he needed to clear his head first and make sure he was at 100%.

3:00 pm

Ramon Alvarez was medically cleared. He stayed at the hospital long enough to be sure that Brian, Bullock, and Gordon were going to make it, and left; he had something to attend to. He got to where he was going; a converted factory on the docks. This was the place Black Mask had said to meet. He had something he wanted Alvarez to see, someone he wanted him to meet, he said.

Mask was waiting inside.

"Good to see you whole, Alvarez," Mask greeted and beckoned him in. Mask and a couple of his guys led him deeper into the factory, which had apparently been converted into some kind of crazy lab or weapons manufacturing plant – or maybe a bit of both. They came to a door, and Mask dismissed the guys.

"Ramon Alvarez," Mask said as he opened the door, "Meet Dr. Hugo Strange." Inside was an odd looking fellow, clearly a pencil neck science geek. His eyes were covered with wraparound glasses. On his face he wore a grin that smacked of borderline lunacy, tempered with a sense of impending victory.

"Yes," Hugo nodded gleefully. "He will do just fine." He turned his attention to Alvarez. "I'd like very much for you to be the first to try my newest line of urban warfare gear, Mr. Alvarez."


End file.
